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    Arts

    Subtext: Conversations about Classic Books and Films

    Subtext is a book club podcast for readers interested in what the greatest works of the human imagination say about life’s big questions. Each episode, philosopher Wes Alwan and poet Erin O’Luanaigh conduct a close reading of a text or film and co-write an audio essay about it in real time. It’s literary analysis, but in the best sense: we try not overly stuffy and pedantic, but rather focus on unearthing what’s most compelling about great books and movies, and how it is they can touch our lives in such a significant way.

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    Latest Episodes:
    Prestidigitocracy in “The Wizard of Oz” (1939) Jul 19, 2021
    Show notes

    The Wizard of Oz is supposed by the land’s inhabitants to be its most powerful magician. But far from having any actual power, he is not even native to the place in which real magic is in plentiful supply. Oddly, this supernatural world seems to be secretly governed by mundane sleight of hand, and growing up, for Dorothy, involves uncovering the flimsy basis of adult authority. Which magic is more potent: the childish imagination, or the symbolic power of grown-ups to educate it? Wes & Erin analyze the 1939 film, “The Wizard of Oz.” Pre-order Erin’s forthcoming book “Avail” here: http://subtextpodcast.com/avail For bonus content, become a paid subscriber at Patreon or directly on the Apple Podcasts app. Patreon subscribers also get early access to ad-free regular episodes. Also from Wes: Curtain Times, a calendar of Boston theatre, classical, talks and readings. Follow:Twitter | Facebook | Website Thanks to Nick Ketter for the audio editing on this episode. Transcript 0:09 Wes: The wizard of Oz is supposed by the land's inhabitants to be its most powerful magician. But far from having any actual power, he's not even native to the place in which real magic is in plentiful supply. Oddly, this supernatural world seems to be secretly governed by mundane sleight of hand. And growing up for Dorothy involves uncovering the flimsy basis of adult authority. Which magic is more potent? The childish imagination or the symbolic power of adults to educate it? Today we discuss the 1939 film the wizard of Oz. This is Wes Alwan, and this is Erin O'Luanaigh, and you're listening to Subtext. And not all episodes of Subtext will appear here. subtextpodcast.com subscribe or by searching for us within the app itself. So, Erin, what do you call a government that is ruled by a stage magician? 1:18 Erin: What? 1:19 Wes: A prestidigitocracy. 1:24 Erin: That's a good one, Wes. 1:26 Wes: So we had been talking about this offline a little bit, so you. I think I've already familiarized you with this idea, but one of the things that struck me about the film and the book is that I find it very interesting that we get transported into this magical world, this fantasy world, but at the center of it, there's this person who is not a real magician, doesn't have real magic. So there's plenty of real magic in that world with witches and so on, and then trees that throw apples at you and all that. But when it comes to this central figure who's supposed to solve all these problems, he is just a kind of a version of a stage magician with no real powers. So it's as if there's this intrusion of the mundane into something that's supposed to be fantastic. I should say that in the book, it uses the word rule. The wizard of Oz rules over the Emerald City. In the script, it's cut out. He lives there, you know, he's said, of course, to be the all powerful. It's unclear, in a way, what his role in the Emerald City actually is. In the book, he's straightforwardly a ruler. I think I had gotten the idea that he was the ruler of Oz, and then I realized, well, wait a minute, you know, it's just the Emerald City. 2:45 Erin: Well, is there Professor Marvel in the book or is everything from that frame narrative kind of. 2:50 Wes: Everything from the frame narrative is cut out. I only read the first part of it and then skimmed the rest. So a listener can correct me if I'm wrong, but I'm pretty sure, yeah, there's no Professor Marvel. 3:00 Erin: Wow. Okay. Yeah, Yeah, I guess that didn't occur to me until you said that while we were watching. Cause we watched it together. It's funny, you know, every time I watch that movie, and it's been a lot of times I watch it as a kid, like, I just, I remember all of my emotions and I'd never tried to analyze it before or even seen any sort of, you know, I just sort of swallow the message at the end and that's it. And never thought about it. So this is a very strange exercise to subtextual a film like this that I have such. I think we both were talking about how we have such primal feelings when it comes to this film and such weird remembrances of it and. Yeah, so that's one of the things that I. You said it. And I kind of noticed that. And lots of other things too, that I don't think that the wizard is the only charlatan in Oz, which is interesting too, but we'll get to that, I'm sure. 3:51 Wes: So. Yeah. What do you mean by that? He's not the only charlatan? 3:54 Erin: Well, I think Dorothy might be the other one. I don't know if that's like too strong of a word, but I mean, she lands in Oz, she's getting celebrated for something that she does accidentally. And in fact, later when the, when the Wicked Witch shows up and says to her, did you kill my sister? Dorothy says, no. She's like, no, no, it was an accident. I didn't mean to kill anybody. And then she kind of like trades on that fame to get into the Emerald City. And then we find out that Oz himself showed up there accidentally and was. Oh, and she's also, of course, the main part of that is that Glinda thinks she's a witch and she's not really a witch. Right. So she has this magical power foisted upon her. And presumably so has Oz. He got there accidentally via balloon. And so we can imagine that his inhabiting Oz and making a sort of a long term career out of. Out of being called a wizard by the, you know, indigenous population is. 4:58 Wes: He's sort of the Kurtz of. 5:01 Erin: Well, yeah. And so he's sort of got a. 5:03 Wes: Heads. There's no heads on spikes. But. 5:05 Erin: Right. Well, I have a great deal of sympathy for him because he has to. He actually has a tremendous amount of wisdom, I think. And he's built it up over time. He's taken his personal brand and built 5:16 Wes: it up over time. And unlike Dorothy, who. 5:22 Erin: Yeah. And Dorothy just wants to leave. Right. That's because she's pure at heart or young at heart or whatever. The thing at the beginning is, you know, she just wants to leave. But maybe the Oz figure is a figure of, like, this is what will happen to you if you're not, you know, real connected with your roots the way you should be by going back to Kansas. This is the bad stuff that'll happen to you, which I don't know that that's bad. And I also don't know. Again, it's. Watching this as a kid, it's like, no one would think of this. But I also just wonder what good or comes of Dorothy's return. Like, it's a dream. She has to wake up eventually. Unless she's gonna be in a coma for the rest of her life. But. Yeah. So I don't know if that's the right choice, per se, if it is a choice. And what awaits her when she goes back to Kansas? 6:07 Wes: What you said earlier on really struck me, which is that when you sort of watch this without thinking about subtext, you just sort of absorb the message at the end, which is a weird message, Right? How does she put it? She says, so this is. She's still in Oz and she's talking to Glinda. I get bothered by plot holes in movies. Just irrationally bothered when, you know, I know I should be suspending disbelief, but the whole idea that she had to go through all this because you've always had the power to go back to Kansas. 6:41 Erin: Right. 6:42 Wes: I'd be really pissed. 6:44 Erin: Are you freaking kidding me? 6:46 Wes: That was a lot to go through. A lot of very traumatic stuff, including thinking you're gonna die. 6:51 Erin: Well, the idea that, like, Glinda, you know, who thinks that Dorothy is a witch and that Kansas is a star, still, like, knows what's best for Dorothy, and that is a perilous, like, physical and emotional journey is really funny. 7:05 Wes: So it's the Scarecrow who says, then why didn't you tell her before? Which, you know, they have to do. I mean, imagine this hadn't been explained. That would have been so frustrating. So Glinda, because she wouldn't have believed me. She had to learn it for herself. Then the Tin man asks her, what have you learned, Dorothy? Dorothy Well, I think that it wasn't enough just to want to see Uncle Henry and Auntie M. It's that if I ever go looking for my heart's desire again, I won't look any further than my own backyard, because if it isn't there, I never really lost it to begin with. Is that right? And Glinda says that's it because it 7:41 Erin: just wasn't there in the first place. So you can't lose something you didn't have. Like. 7:45 Wes: Yeah. What does this mean if it isn't there? I never really lost it. So what did she think she lost? 7:53 Erin: Her heart's desire. So in other words, she's saying she never really had any ambition. 7:58 Wes: Well, she left because she's trying to protect Toto. 8:01 Erin: Yeah, but Professor Marvel also picks up on another motive. And, you know, he picks up on the fact that she's running away after a couple of tries. And then he says something like, they don't understand you at home. They don't appreciate you. You want to see other. Other lands, big mountains, big oceans, big cities. Something like that. 8:20 Wes: And then Dorothy says, why, it's just like you could read what was inside of me. 8:25 Erin: Right? But I think that the desire to escape with Toto and this desire to break out of Kansas and go see all these places, protecting Toto and leaving maybe are two sides of the same coin. 8:36 Wes: So, yeah, it's not just protecting Toto, but in the very beginning, there's the dissatisfaction with all the adults that aren't paying attention to her and her concerns about Toto. And then this fantasy of going to somewhere over the rainbow. This suggests that her heart's desire has something to do with finding a place where people would listen to her. Or, you know, maybe it has something to do with her parents. Right? She's an orphan. She's with her aunt and uncle. She's with people who are preoccupied with surviving and tending to the farm. And in particular, the three farmhands are going to give her all this hypocritical adult advice. Be smart, be courageous. Things, qualities that they don't themselves have. And then ultimately, I think we're supposed to think that the heart's desire thing is ambiguous between growing up and not growing up. Because Oz is sort of this hybrid world. It's not the over the rainbow paradise. There's lots of terrible things in it. And it's this weird, weirdly childish place, right, where there are munchkins. And it's sort of a. If going away from home is growing up, she's not really left, in a sense, by going to Oz. That's not the. 9:47 Erin: To go back to the beginning, you know, we first see Dorothy and Toto on the road back to the farmhouse, escaping Ms. Gulch. And then we very quickly see Auntie Em and Uncle Henry. And everything seems to me to look like a Dorothea Lange photograph. Like, you know, very dust Bowl y. This is a very broken down place. And Dorothy's pristineness, shall we say, like she's not engaged in the work of the farm the way that some children might be. You know, she's not like some girl who's out there with her pigtails. Yes. But somewhat disheveled and with some overalls, like helping out around the farm. And. And you can even say, I guess, that her attachment to Toto also marks a kind of like a divergence from farm life. Just having a pet solely as a companion. When I was a kid and I still kind of feel this way, I always thought of Auntie Em less so Uncle Henry because he uses. I figured out why he uses terms of endearment with her, and he's a little gentler with her, which I think is typical of an older man with a young girl. But I always thought of Auntie Em as being really mean, and she's really not. In fact, Auntie Em actually in particular seems to really love Dorothy. And there's an urgency to what she's doing in those opening scenes. Like, the farm incubator has broken and so they have to save all these baby chicks, and we're told that, like, some of them are gonna die. So that's a little bit immediately sort of a weird thing. And so Dorothy's coming up and Dorothy has really real concerns. Like she's trying to say that Toto is, you know, gonna get taken away and Ms. Gulch is mad and all this stuff. And. And I guess Auntie Em is like, actually kind of being pretty patient with Dorothy. But, you know, as a kid, you just get this sense of injustice on Dorothy's behalf, that there's an urgency in what Dorothy is trying to tell them. And everyone is dismissing what seems like really real concerns. 11:40 Wes: Why do you think she's being patient? Cause it did seem to me like she was being dismissive. 11:44 Erin: So she doesn't just, like, yell at Dorothy and tell her to go away. Yeah, she, like, tries to give a reason for why she can't listen to Dorothy right now. And she's. She's in the middle of. I don't know if I was in that kind of a situation. And I had some kid coming up to me and bugging me while I was trying to do something urgent. I probably would treat her with a little bit less charity than that, which is really mean to say, but I'd just be like, hey, you know what? Just like, get away from me. I'll talk to you later, you know. Instead, she kind of tries to explain to Dorothy what's going on and says, you know, okay, go away. Like, she does dismiss her, but it's not. But she's not a cruel person at all. And I thought of her as being cruel when I was a kid. Like, everybody's so mean to Dorothy, and Dorothy's trying to tell them that Toto is gonna get hurt and who cares about whatever they're doing, you know, which is a. Very. Obviously, you know, kids have a strong identification with Dorothy and feel those feelings with her, even if that's not kind of what the larger film is showing more objectively. 12:37 Wes: Yeah, I mean, I think the adults all have good reasons in a way, or at least from an adult perspective, because in all likelihood, at that point in the movie, Dorothy's overreacting to something that. A cranky neighbor. Right. Who did something to Toto. It turns out not to be the case. Turns out to be that the threat is very real and something that should be taken seriously. But these are people who are focused on survival. The whole idea of a desolate landscape is very important, in contrast to the attempt to raise animals and to engage in farming and animal husbandry. And there's a lot here about fertility, including the incubator and the chicks, which I think we have to draw connections between that and Dorothy's adolescence. And, you know, there's also even the contrast with Mrs. Gulch. Right, Gulch. Like a dried up creek bed, an old hag. The very personification of infertility associated with being an old maid really is the suggestion. So in this context, where for the aunt and uncle and the farmhands, their lives at stake as well. Right. They're taking care of animals, they're trying to nurture and keep alive. So they're playing this role with respect to the farm that they're not entirely playing with respect to Dorothy. Right. They're sort of. It's a kind of version of parenting that's going on with the farm, nurturing and raising up and all that stuff. And Dorothy is an orphan, lives a life that is oblique to that in a way. And I think that's something I really did not think about, which should be glaringly obvious. Which you pointed out is how out of place she is with that dress. And, I mean, even before she gets t…

    Full show notes at the publisher

    Formulated Phrases in “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock” by T. S. Eliot: Part 2 Jul 05, 2021
    Show notes

    Wes & Erin continue their analysis of T. S. Eliot’s “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock.” In Part 1, they covered roughly the first third of the poem. In Part 2, they begin with a discussion of Prufrock’s coffee spoons, and then continue on to: his allusions to John the Baptist, Lazarus, and Hamlet; the disjointed portrait of his probable love interest; and the twinning of aging and fantasy in the final stanzas. Pre-order Erin’s forthcoming book “Avail” here: http://subtextpodcast.com/avail For bonus content, become a paid subscriber at Patreon or directly on the Apple Podcasts app. Patreon subscribers also get early access to ad-free regular episodes. Also from Wes: Curtain Times, a calendar of Boston theatre, classical, talks and readings. Follow:Twitter | Facebook | Website Thanks to Nick Ketter for the audio editing on this episode. Transcript 0:09 Erin: Today we'll be continuing our discussion of T.S. eliot's The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock. In part one, we covered roughly the first third of the poem, and in Part two we'll resume our conversation with Prufrock's coffee spoons. We'll discuss, among other things, Prufrock's allusions to John the Baptist, Lazarus and Hamlet, the disjointed portrait of Prufrock's probable love interest, and the twinning of aging and fantasy in the final stanzas. This is Erin O'Luanaigh, and this is Wes Alwan, and you're listening to Subtext. 0:50 Wes: And not all episodes of Subtext will appear here. subtextpodcast.com subscribe or by searching for us within the app itself. Okay, part two of our two part series on the love song of J. Alfred Prufrock. At the end of our last episode, we decided that we needed a minute for decisions and revisions before we could come back to more of this poem. The stanza we left on was the do I dare disturb the universe stanza. And now we are ready to measure out life in coffee spoons. 1:32 Erin: Nice. Good segue. So should we read this stanza? 1:38 Wes: Yeah, go for it. 1:39 Erin: Okay. For I have known them all already, Known them all have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons. I have measured out my life with coffee spoons. I know the voices dying with a dying fall beneath the music from a farther room. So how should I presume? I'm trying to get into the mind of Prufrock in these readings. 1:57 Wes: So what is he worried about? 1:59 Erin: When I read this the first time, when he says, I've known them all already known them all. And then of course, the colon would indicate that the all refers to the evenings, mornings, afternoons. But isn't he also, at the same time referring to the people that he's going to be meeting at these parties? 2:14 Wes: Yeah, I think he's talking about these social occasions which the idea of measuring out life with coffee spoons is, you know, he's having tea with people, tea and coffee, to go up a few stanzas. Time for 100 visions and revisions before the taking of a toast and tea. Visions and revisions are nominally about his indecision, but of course they're also evocative of what he would do as an artist. So it would. So we'll have to revisit that question of the relationship between this social dissatisfaction and social indecision and what it means to be an artist. It's interesting because you get on the one hand, right, the evocation of evenings and mornings and coffee spoons. What he's been doing is social. He's been hanging out with these women. I don't know if there are other men there, if it's just him surrounded by women. I think the original title of this poem was Prufrock with the women or something like that. 3:12 Erin: I think it's among the women. 3:13 Wes: I want to say among the women. Right. So lucky Prufrock. I don't know about that, or maybe not so lucky. But yeah, apparently he'd been hanging out. He's been doing these tea times or whatever it is with these women. It's Been going on long enough to connect that social existence with a sense of futility, measuring out life and coffee spoons. So I suppose it's some sense that this is meaningless, dissatisfying. Once again, I think we're supposed to think about the possibility of an essential fraudulence to social relations and then by way of that, a possible fraudulence to love itself. So that when we get down to so how should I presume, maybe I should just ask the question, what is so presumptuous in this context? Assuming that he's going to ask this question, which for the sake of argument we're taking to be a proposal of some kind. 4:10 Erin: And what you just said, you're really opening this up for me. Because the October night, the sense of the evening at the beginning of the poem and also the red light district that we talked about last time, I was thinking that this was, you know, he was going to a party. I think that's even explicitly what I said in the first episode, maybe. And now I'm seeing what you're talking about. So I was thinking that he was going into an environment in which there were, you know, men and women and that it was a party or that it was, you know, the sun is going down and he's going to some event and there would be, you know, an equal distribution, though he's preoccupied with the women at the party. And the thing that kind of stopped me about that is in the previous stanza, it describes his morning coat, which I know is only worn until 5 or 6 in the evening. So he would have to go home and change if he was going out to a dinner party, actually. 5:02 Wes: But it is the evening supposedly, right? Right. The evening is laid out against the sky. 5:07 Erin: So now I'm wondering is he leaving the afternoon tea and going home at the beginning of the stanza or something like that? But the reason why all this occurs to me is because what you're describ. I'm realizing he must be in an all female environment. And if it's a tea, if it's in the afternoon, I can now sort of picture him as a kind of a eunuch in the middle of this ladies auxiliary tea or something like that. And so I'm presuming that his presumption is in such an environment. How could I turn this into an opportunity for a potential romance? Or how should I sort of break the mold of this particular kind of afternoon where he must be accepted as some sort of benign, inoffensive figure among these women and put myself out there in A sexual way and sort of change the tone of this. Not explicitly sexual, but you know what I mean, in a romantic way. And change the tone of their interaction with me. 6:02 Wes: Yeah, that's very good. You could read it both ways. So even if it's a. Whether it's a social engagement with. Well, I'm not sure if there are men there, then you could see him as simply preoccupied with women. And so among the women might just mean psychologically among. But yeah, I think it heightens it to just to take it more literally and say, this is why I wanted to call it J. Alfred Friendzone. Because the question of presumptuousness arises because he's in a situation where obviously the person that he's courting may not know that she's being courted. I think, you know, I think that's probably a strong possibility. So he has failed, as you point out, to establish that tone. And there's a very distinct shift in tone from the friendly to the romantic. And there are people who, you know, who have trouble shifting gears in that way. They have trouble moving out of what Freud called aim inhibited libido. So Freud saw this as, you know, our friendly relations with each other, our platonic relations with each other as sublimating sexual libido. And to try to move back to the sexual also inevitably involves something a bit aggressive or at the very least, it involves something potentially offensive and potentially objectifying. And for someone who's too much of a good guy, as we discussed last time, or too much with the preemptive absolution of being the good guy, just like Guido or an analogy to Guido. I think being so invested in that means that he's going to have trouble inhabiting this other role. It will feel presumptuous in the sense that he has to presume that she's interested in that way. And I think later on in the poem he's going to ask whether it's worth it. Right. Would it be worth it if I were rejected? And a friend might say, come on, it's not a big deal. She rejects you, she rejects you. What's the big deal? It's a numbers game. Move on to the next or whatever. 8:03 Erin: So you're saying that he needs a Will Smith to coach him? 8:06 Wes: That's right, yeah. For him, this is a cosmic, cosmic importance. It's a disturbance of the universe. What I'm trying to get at here by discussing Freud is how something like this shift from a more benign social situation to something more sexual could feel so terrifying, almost like actual danger, maybe even existential danger, but beyond that, dangerous to others, dangerous to the women, dangerous to the entire order of things if we want to take universe that way. So it's as if he feels the responsibility of an eruption of sexual reality into the world of social forms which keeps that under wraps. 8:50 Erin: If he is in some sort of afternoon or late afternoon or tea time environment, say you know, four or five o', clock, he would have to go home and change, I think, to then go out for the evening. And that would be a different set of clothes. Right. That would be a different environment, one more conducive to the kinds of things that he seems to be after. So I think that it would also be disturbing the universe, as you say, in the sense of disturbing the time. Because there would be some oddity, I think, about trying to make overtures to a woman in the afternoon or something. And so he would have to. Yeah, I don't know about that whole timeline theory, but that seems to be part of it. Like what you're saying that he's out of place in terms of the season and the hour and everything is not right here. And it would actually be some kind of a violation if he were to do what it is that he's planning on doing by inserting himself into this gang of ladies and then hitting on one of them. It's an evening activity. 9:47 Wes: Yeah. I'm thinking about this idea of measuring out my life with coffee spoons. And it occurred to me that this is a. It speaks to his caution, but which later on he will identify himself as a kind of Polonius and an over cautious person. Not Hamlet, but prudent to the point of possibly being a fool. So he's been taking baby steps, so to speak. And because he's middle aged, you could imagine this on a more surreal level if David lynch were directing this, you could imagine that he has actually been. Or maybe it's a Twilight Zone episode. You know, he's been doing this for his entire life, life with the same woman showing up the same place, having coffee, thinking about proposing and never doing it. And this just goes on and on. And perhaps that just is what the universe is at some level, if you're, if you're thinking pessimistically about it, not growth and generation and a work leading somewhere in the way that kind of got an evocation of that with Hesiod and works and days, but just this repetition, just this mere repetition of something that's very, very, very incremental, let's say. And the whole idea of measuring out life with coffee spoons. It occurred to me that that's a kind of work in miniature. So again, it made me think of the works and day stanza and the idea of there'll be a time to murder and create. That murder and create line is sort of thrown in. It's like a little bit of the unconscious dynamic of this suddenly emerging because he's talking about a face to meet the faces that you meet and time for 100 indecisions and this and that. The idea of murdering and creating is really quite jarring in that context. So coming back to this now we get the more mundane version of that, which is not doing anything so dramatic as that work wise, but just measuring out life with coffee spoons. 11:52 Erin: That Twilight Zone episode that you just outlined before was. I'm still reeling from that one. 12:00 Wes: That would be a good one. 12:01 Erin: Yeah, that would be really good. You should be a writer for the new. Is that still going on? 12:06 Wes: I think there is a new one, but it's. I heard it wasn't very good. 12:09 Erin: Well, that's because they haven't hired you yet for the Prufrock episode. 12:13 Wes: I don't think anyone's going to be able to replicate what Rod Serling did with that. 12:18 Erin: That's true. 12:19 Wes: Not just the voice, but the screenwriting. That's sui generis. 12:22 Erin: What do we make of this? The voice is dying with a dying fall. That's one of my favorite lines in the poem. It's a really elegant line beneath the music from a farther room. I'm not sure how this connects up with coffee spoons. Or maybe I do. But a dying fall is obviously like a slowing rhythm or diminishing volume. So the voices are diminishing beneath the music. So this is maybe the party has started, the nighttime party has started or something. Or he's describing the point at which words end and people are entertained or swept up into the music. And that is in a farther room. So that's unavailable to him while he's still sitting there with his coffee spoons. Maybe. But something celebratory and rapturous that he's incapable of taking part in or which is removed from him in another part of the house where they're having this party. I can picture the house very clearly, but I don't know if it's the house. Maybe I made enough of a connection right there. I'm not really sure. 13:17 Wes: Yeah. So he's listening to something going on in another room. He's hearing voices intermingled with music. It's an interesting experience because it involves hearing people talking, but not being able to make sense of what they're saying. Right. So it's just inarticulate, which is really odd when you think about it. And I think of it as like listening to another language. Or maybe it's like the Charlie Brown effect. You ignore adults and it's just wah, wah, wa. But regardless. So it's chatter. But the one thing that you do get that's still preserved in that situation, despite the fact that you can't really make out what people are saying, is you can make out tonalities, and you can get the general. Sometimes I think the general feeling of what's going on. And in this kind of very polite drawing room environment, it sounds like people struggling to make conversations, struggling to make small talk. And I get this sense of the. When sentences come to an end, it's not with excitement. It's not an uptick tonally. It's a grave accent, I guess. 14:26 Erin: You mean not in Prufrock's room? You mean in the music room? 14:29 Wes: Yeah. 14:30 Erin: Oh, okay. I read that differently. 14:31 Wes: Oh, how did you. 14:33 Erin: I meant that as the music started up, the voices were diminished, you know. 14:37 Wes: Oh, I see. The voices that he's with. Yeah. 14:40 Erin: No, no, no, no, no. In the other room, they're like. You know when. When a party starts and there's some chatter and the music starts playing. And as it gets louder, people are stopping talking because then the music either overcomes it or they are just sitting and listening to it. So I'm getting this idea that in the farther room, the party is starting. So it's actually a good thing, though the repetition of dying, I thought, was more…

    Full show notes at the publisher

    Disturbing the Universe in “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock” by T. S. Eliot: Part 1 Jun 21, 2021
    Show notes

    It was T. S. Eliot’s first published poem. Written when he was only in his early 20s, “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock” rode the crest of the wave of literary Modernism, predated World War I, and presaged an age of indecision and anxiety. The poem is the dramatic interior monologue of the title character, a middle-aged man whose passivity and ambivalence are threaded with artistic allusions, epigrammatic observations, and meditations on the nature of time, the fraudulence of relationships, and the risks of eating a peach. Should Prufrock dare disturb the universe? Should we? Wes & Erin analyze. Pre-order Erin’s forthcoming book “Avail” here: http://subtextpodcast.com/avail For bonus content, become a paid subscriber at Patreon or directly on the Apple Podcasts app. Patreon subscribers also get early access to ad-free regular episodes. Also from Wes: Curtain Times, a calendar of Boston theatre, classical, talks and readings. Follow:Twitter | Facebook | Website Thanks to Nick Ketter for the audio editing on this episode. Transcript 0:08 Erin: It was T.S. eliot's first published poem, written when he was only in his early 20s. The love song of J. Alfred Prufrock rode the crest of the wave of literary modernism, predated World War I, and presaged an age of indecision and anxiety. The poem is the dramatic interior monologue of the title character, a middle aged man whose passivity and ambivalence character are threaded with artistic allusions, epigrammatic observations and meditations on the nature of time, the fraudulence of relationships, and the risks of eating a peach. Should Prufrock dare disturb the universe? Should we? Today we're discussing T.S. eliot's the Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock. This is Erin O'Luanaigh. And this is Wes Alwan, and you're listening to Subtext. 1:05 Wes: And not all episodes of Subtext will appear here. subtextpodcast.com subscribe or by searching for us within the app itself. 1:20 Erin: So, Wes, for the longest time I called this poem the Love Song of Alfred J. Prufrock. In fact, up until like a week ago did I finally train myself out of it. And I. I don't know why, but I have. I always had such trouble with this title. And I think in hindsight, or maybe just sitting and, and thinking through the title and the awkwardness of that a little bit, it seems like maybe that's the reaction that I'm supposed to have. The, the inability to really know this guy's name or rather to trip over the awkwardness of his name, maybe. But I was calling it the wrong thing for a really long time. And I sometimes do that thing where I will call it the wrong thing and people will correct me and I'll ignore them and just persist. 2:03 Wes: So yeah, it's funny you say that. I. I have always had the same problem. In fact, I tweeted about this yesterday. Making a joke about how you did it was originally called the Love Song of J. Alfred Friendzone, but Eliot thought it would be too obvious. Yeah, I don't know if that joke really worked, but yeah, I have to look up, when I tweeted that I actually had to look up the name again. I have to do it every time. I have to look up the name to verify whether the J goes in the middle or up front. It's been that way since I first read the poem, which I probably read in high school. 2:38 Erin: Wow. 2:38 Wes: Why is it so hard to remember the order? 2:40 Erin: I think Alfred J. Prufrock has a little bit more music to it, if you can argue that. But having that one initial right up front kind of stops you dead for some reason. 2:51 Wes: He goes by his middle name, right. Alfred, which is, you know already. It's not the most fortunate name. Sorry. If there are any Alfreds listening to this, you know, and then it's a nerdy. There's a nerdy effect to it, I think. And then even the last name, it's goofy or whatever you want to call it. I think Prufrock was some sort of company. 3:10 Erin: Oh, I know what you're talking about. 3:12 Wes: Growing up or something. I don't think he said this. I think he just says it's made up. 3:16 Erin: He said he wasn't consciously thinking of that, but he must have picked up on that. He admitted he might have been influenced by seeing that and having it roll around in the back of his mind. 3:24 Wes: Yeah, this is when he was back in St. Louis. Yeah. So his family is from New England, but they ended up in St. Louis. His father had like a brick company or something. Yeah. And his mom was a teacher and also a poet. But yeah, I mean, apparently St. Louis in various ways was very influential on Eliot. But yeah, this title in particular seems to have come from the name of another company. It's a kind of. I don't know if arresting is the word for the title. It's a very memorable title. It's a good poem if you're going to make yourself famous at an early age. It's a good title to have. And this poem, I think he wrote it when he was 23, right? 4:08 Erin: Yeah, 22. Well, between 21 and 23 or something. 4:12 Wes: Yeah. 4:12 Erin: Yeah. 4:13 Wes: Which is interesting because it sounds like it's about a middle aged guy. 4:16 Erin: Right. 4:17 Wes: But he wrote this, I think, while he was in grad school and philosophy at Harvard, or maybe he was on a year abroad in France, I think he did a year abroad in France and he became friends with Ezra Pound, who became a big champion of his poetry. And ultimately, even though he finished his dissertation on idealism on this English guy, Bradley, who I think he directly studied under as well, he ended up not going back for the oral examination or whatever it was that would have ended up allowing him to complete his doctorate and become a professor. He was off to the races with poetry and left that to the side. But yeah, so this poem made a really big splash. I think Ezra Pound was excited by it because of its. It was considered avant garde in its time. It's sort of the quintessential modernist poem. Right. It's kind of near the beginning of a movement. It received a lot of resistance. There's an early review in which the guy calls him a drunken helot. So this guy, Arthur Waugh, in Quarterly Review, wrote something called the New Poetry. This review starts off, cleverness is indeed the pitfall of the New Poetry. There's no question about the ingenuity with which its varying moods are exploited. Its elaborate symbolism evolved and its sudden, disconcerting effects exploded upon imagination. I'm not sure if I like that image. Swift, brilliant images break into the field of vision, scatter like rockets and leave a trail of flying fire behind. But the general impression is momentary. There are moods and emotions, but no steady current of ideas behind them. Further, in their determination to surprise and even to puzzle at all costs, these young poets are continually forgetting that the first essence of poetry is beauty. And he compares it to cubism. And the reader will not have penetrated far before he finds himself in the very stronghold of literary rebellion, if not of anarchy. And then later on, after quoting something else. So this poem appeared in 1917, I think, in a little book of poems called Prufrock and Other Observations, which Ezra Pound helped get published. So after quoting from Prufrock, he says, here surely is the reduction to absurdity of that school of literary license which, beginning with the Declaration, I knew my father well, and he was a f fool, naturally proceeds the convenient assumption that everything which seemed wise and true to the father must inevitably be false and foolish to the son. Yet if the fruits of emancipation are to be recognized in the unmetrical, incoherent banalities of these literary cubists, the state of poetry is indeed threatened with anarchy, which will end in something worse even than red ruin and the breaking up of laws. A hint of warning may not be altogether out of place. It was a classic custom in the family hall, when the feast was at its height, to display a drunken slave among the sons of the household to the end that they, being ashamed at the ignominious folly of his gesticulations, might determine never to be tempted into such a pitiable condition themselves. The custom had its advantages, for the wisdom of the younger generation was found to be fostered more surely by a single example than by a word of homily and precept. And then Ezra Pound wrote a response to this called drunken helots and Mr. Eliot. So I don't think the reviewer will use the word, word helot, but I think after Ezra Pound's extremely feisty response and ridicule of this guy, and I think everyone assumed that the reviewer used the word helot. And so that kind of became a point of amusement among other reviewers who were defending Eliot. 8:00 Erin: I think that you said it was published in 1917 in a book, and it was, but it was first published in, I think June of 1915 in Poetry magazine, right? Well, actually, no, I think Portrait of the Artist as a Young man came out in 1914 maybe. I thought it was also 1915. And then pound did have that book of imagist poems that came in, I think, 1912. But Prufrock was certainly on the crest of the wave. I find that review to be really interesting and kind of true in a way. I mean, not in any way having to do with Eliot. 8:32 Wes: What? True in a way? But not in any true way. 8:34 Erin: But not in any true. Yeah, that's like the Parks and Rec quote with Patricia Clarkson playing Tammy, where she's like, in a way, yes, but in another truer way, no. But anyway, as you know, I'm an art history buff and I certainly think that Cubism and modernism are inextricably linked. But I think that the reviewer is right when he says that for poetry this is moving down a really destructive path. Cubism set art history on a path that ends in basically in complete and total self destruction. Like if you eliminate everything one by one, then in the end you'll be left with nothing. And then you have to build from the rubble of that. And I think that poetry kind of. I don't, I don't want to speak too grandly here, but you know, poetry kind of escaped that fate because eventually it, it swung back around into confessionalism. And I think confessionalism within that are the seeds of an even greater and more profound demise than, than was ever in modernism. But I think he does, he does sort of back his way into an interesting point about these destructive movements in art or like essentialist movements where you go down to the bare bones and then when you're done stripping everything away, there's nothing left. But it's certainly not true when it comes to Eliot, that, and it's kind of funny that, that he thinks that Eliot is not what he called reverent enough of his forebears, considering the fact that it begins with, you know, it begins with Dante, right. And, and is littered with his reverence for his forebears and also. 10:02 Wes: And it's something very important to Eliot and Eliot wrote about that, you know. 10:05 Erin: Right, right. 10:06 Wes: Relationship. 10:07 Erin: And I hope that we'll cover tradition and the individual talent at some point. 10:10 Wes: That would be really cool. I read that as part of my prep for this, but, yeah, we should do that. 10:13 Erin: Oh, really? Oh, I haven't reread that since college, but I remember loving it. 10:17 Wes: Yeah. He talks about the importance of seeing a. You know, the importance of influence and thinking of a contemporary poem as sort of part of this larger whole that is poetry. So, yeah, the guy that reviewer doesn't is not astute enough to get that, despite the fact that Eliot is innovative and more fragmented in the way that he writes than people are used to, it's not simply an abandonment of tradition. 10:40 Erin: Yeah, no. And not to give this idiot too much credence, but I'm simply saying that in a. You know, that I think modernism actually has a lot more of the tradition within it now. We have, I think, later movements after modernism started to abandon that tradition more and more. But at least when it comes to art history, he was kind of right. Just because in the 70s, you have this kind of nadir of, like, after Abstract Expressionism, where do you go? Anyway? There is a certain cul de sac quality in a lot of elements of 20th century art, but not in Eliot. I'd say Eliot is like the stay against that. 11:14 Wes: Interesting. Well, I think Ezra Pound overhyped the book. In all honesty, the Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock is one of my favorite poems, and I think it's a great poem. Reading the whole book in preparation for this. It's not long. 11:27 Erin: Portrait of a Lady is that Portrait 11:28 Wes: of a Lady is great. Well, the Boston Evening Transcript is another brief little kind of playful poem that doesn't mark someone as being a great poet, in my opinion. So there are things of varying quality, I think, in that volume. But regardless, take my judgments with a grain of salt, obviously. But I can say, as far as my taste goes, my love of Prufrock does not extend to thus far to most of the other stuff I've read. So I also reread the Waste Land in preparation for this, and I remember having to read that in high school and having a friend of mine just bitch and moan constantly about the Waste Land. And it was just almost a recurring object of contempt. So what I can say now is I'm not advanced enough to fully appreciate probably some of this Prufrock. Like I said, I count it among my favorites. I Think it's exceptional. And I think when I say Pound was overhyping, I was thinking of the volume in general. And Eliot is just starting out right. Ezra Pound's like, oh, I'm gonna make you famous. You're the greatest. I don't think there's enough evidence at this point. Pound is really, really. It's a leap of faith in some ways for Pound. You know, he sees the greatness in some of these poems. 12:43 Erin: Sure. Well, I think Pound is kind of a serial over hyper. I mean, Eliot fascism, you know? Yeah, exactly. 12:50 Wes: But we kind of got into this because of the weird title and the 12:54 Erin: juxtaposition of the idea of a love song with this guy who sounds like a. I don't know, I think he would make a great sitcom character on like the Big Bang Theory or something like that. 13:06 Wes: Really? Why is that? 13:07 Erin: I don't know. He just sounds like his name. It just sounds like a guy with a pocket protector. 13:11 Wes: Yeah, yeah. 13:12 Erin: But then we have the excerpt from Inferno. 13:15 Wes: Yeah. So shall we just go through? We'll read a stanza and then comment and. We may run out of time to do all of that. But that started out. 13:23 Erin: Sure. 13:23 Wes: I've been looking forward to hearing you read the. Read the Italian here. 13:26 Erin: Oh, no. Are you serious? 13:28 Wes: Yeah, it's in Italian. How are you going to avoid reading the Italian? 13:33 Erin: Well, because I was just going to read a translation. I didn't practice. All right, all right. Sio credese che mia riposta fosse a Persona que mai tornase el mondo castafiama Staria senza Piuscose Ma percioque giamma di castofondo Nortono vivo alcun cioldo il Veronica senza terma di infamia ti respondo. So the translation that I have, which I got off the Internet somewhere, if I but thought that my response were made to one perhaps returning to the world, this tongue of flame would cease to flicker. But since up from these depths no one has yet returned alive, if what I hear is true, I answer without fear of being shamed. 14:16 Wes: So that guy is Guido da Montefeltro. What a name. 14:22 Erin: Great guy. 14:22 Wes: Speaking of weird names, probably not weird back then. Or maybe not weird 14:28 Erin: b…

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    (post)script: Post-Apocalypse Jun 14, 2021
    Show notes

    Listen to more episodes of (post)script at Patreon. Wes & Erin continue their discussion of “Apocalypse Now.” Wes apologizes for asking Erin to watch something so disturbing, and we further discuss dueling conceptions of the arts, one Platonic and the other Aristotelian. We agree that “Apocalypse Now,” despite being challenging, is an aesthetic masterpiece. What about the narrative? Wes argues that it is very close to not having enough of an arc. What it does most successfully is to convey a kind of surreal, psychedelic mood, one that is meant to capture the insanity of the Vietnam War (and perhaps war in general), and so constitutes its critique. We end by reminiscing about watching “Notting Hill” together. But we fail to talk about an obvious hypothetical, which is how Hugh Grant would play Kurtz. It’s one thing to have a poetry-spewing Brando put your head on a stake. But nothing could evoke a horror more pure than being subjected, in your final moments, to Hugh Grant’s pseudo-bumbling, self-effacing schtick, somehow performed so adorably as to win you over to the sad necessity of your own obliteration. Next episodes: “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock,” and then “The Wizard of Oz.” Follow:Twitter | Facebook | Website Thanks to Nick Ketter for the audio editing on this episode. Transcript 0:00 Erin: Welcome to Postscript, the subtext after show where we talk about things related and unrelated to the week's episode. This is Erin O'Luanaigh. 0:07 Wes: And this is Wes Alwan. We just got done talking about Apocalypse Now. Sorry. 0:14 Erin: No, I'm glad I saw it. I'm glad I finally sat down and saw the whole. I'm glad that you tortured me in this way. It was the necessary sacrifice that you had to make to get. 0:23 Wes: Yeah, exactly. 0:26 Erin: You were trying to spread democracy to me by showing me this. 0:29 Wes: Yes. 0:30 Erin: Trying to colonize my brain. How many ways can we make stupid jokes about this? Okay. 0:37 Wes: Yeah. So I'm glad you're glad that you saw it. 0:39 Erin: Yeah, sure. 0:39 Wes: You know, I think that went well. There are a lot of really interesting questions to talk about with that movie. And it wasn't just a matter of repeating ourselves with what we talked about in Heart of Darkness. Actually, there's a lot of new interesting territory there. 0:52 Erin: Yeah. And I think I. You know, I hope I didn't say anything too extreme or things that I'm going to live to regret by saying, like. Like this is immoral or what. I didn't mean it's strictly immoral. I was just kind of interested in exploring what happens when you take that and put it on film. 1:08 Wes: Yeah. I mean, it's a classic question. Right? So I think. And it led to a lot of good discussion, I think. 1:13 Erin: Good. Okay. I'm glad you think so. Because I don't know, sometimes with me, you know, things. I'm so emotional and I'm so swept up by things in the moment that sometimes I become obsessed with something or I have a real strong reaction to something. And then later I'm like, why did I. Why was that so extreme? Why couldn't I just look at this more objectively? 1:32 Wes: Well, maybe. Maybe you're just a Platonist and you're just. It's not about being emotional, but being so rational that you. Maybe you want to protect us. 1:40 Erin: I've never been accused of being too rational. 1:42 Wes: Protect us from the arts. 1:44 Erin: That's true. Yeah. 1:46 Wes: I mean, it's a real problem. It doesn't. I don't know how you resolve that dilemma of. This is about education. This is about influence. This is about what builds our character. Every stimulus is important. And like I said, I think there's the Platonic critique and then I think there's the Aristotelian defense of a more ironic detachment from the effects of. To the mimetic. Right. It's not just about the imitation. The fact that we. That the arts and the arts are in. He's thinking about tragic poetry, specifically that there's an imitation of the world, a representation of the world, but it's the fact that it induces imitation in us. And for Aristotle, this is very important. We are imitation machines. We are built up out of imitations and identifications. So Plato's critique is very strong. If we are. We are subjecting ourselves to these identifications with bad people, we might become bad people. And Aristotle gives a kind of like quasi therapeutic explanation of this in terms of catharsis and the sort of inevitability of these darker sides of ourselves and the need to do something with that. Maybe sublimated, I'm not sure. But yeah, two different approaches, which I think both have to be taken seriously. Yeah. 3:00 Erin: And I think. I don't know, sometimes I don't mind playing a role on these podcasts that I don't even necessarily agree with, but saying things that I feel like need to be said or. I don't know, I feel like people don't think enough about the ethics of what they say. They don't question things enough. Not the people who listen to this podcast. But, you know, you can excuse anything. 3:21 Wes: It's just this is a. This is. I'm consuming art or a story or entertainment, however you want to put it. 3:27 Erin: Right. And people don't even think of the. I mean, consuming pornography, if anything, is like celebrated at this point. So. And people don't think about the fact that we just have unprecedented access to these images of extreme sex or extreme violence and in ways that no other culture has ever had to face before. And what effect does that have on us? I think pop up ads on the Internet are immoral. I find them extremely offensive. I do, I do. I find them not only extremely ugly, but intrusive and offensive. I find television commercials be ugly and intrusive. 3:58 Wes: What about podcast advertisements that we read? 4:03 Erin: Yeah, as long as I read them from an aerial position and don't have to directly engage in the weeds, then I'm okay with doing it. 4:10 Wes: There you go. 4:12 Erin: No, I don't know. So I'm all right. Being the weird prophet of disaster. 4:17 Wes: I once got myself into some trouble with friends by arguing that culturally, maybe it's a little more politically incorrect now, but, you know, a public cultural obsession with athleticism and fitness and a healthy diet is perfectly acceptable. But if you talked about that in terms of high culture or the quality of your entertainment, people would just think that's snobbery. So, like I think I said Something like, you know, we are spiritually fat. We, you know, we consume the equivalent of Cheetos and act like that's enough. Not that there's anything wrong with Cheetos. I mean, in moderation, as long as there are other parts of your diet. But the question is if it's just ethically inert and irrelevant, right. To be reading good books or to watch good films and to be very conscientious about what you expose yourself to and to the proportion of your diet that is empty calories, so to speak, and the proportion that is more nutritious. It's about education. And there are political implications to this. You know, the old liberal arts argument is that to have good citizens and a good polis, a good political arrangement in life, we need people with a certain kind of education. Speaking of advertisements, I'm just. I'm advertising my. This is just an advertisement now for liberal arts and for my, you know, one of my hobby horses, but one of my religions. But, yeah, that's the idea. This is about education. I think if people reframed these questions about our entertainments and our leisure time in terms of the concept of education and character, maybe that's something we should do. I don't know. 6:07 Erin: Well, I think by that same token, I mean, in a lot of ways, Apocalypse now is the most. Even on the one hand, I expressed kind of a form of condemnation, though that's too strong of a word. I also think it's probably in the way that you're describing spiritual fitness or whatever. I think this film is the most morally nutritious I've seen in a long time. On the other hand, you know, I mean, in terms of consuming things that don't just make us feel good, but which challenge us in some kind of way or, you know, viewing films not purely as entertainment. I mean, I admitted at the beginning of the episode that I've just been consuming cotton candy. Escapist films. And there's an argument to be made about whether or not all films are fundamentally escapist or what. 6:49 Wes: Yeah. 6:49 Erin: What constitutes entertainment. 6:51 Wes: Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah. 6:52 Erin: I don't think I'm alone in this, though. I mean, it's a feature of times like these, you know, difficult pandemic times or the Great Depression. Far more difficult, where people seek escapism. And scary or challenging movies tend to only be consumed in times of relative prosperity and good feeling. Hence the failure of the Oscars this year, as I think a lot of people have pointed out. Yeah. And I don't think there's anything wrong with escapism. And I don't think there's anything unartistic about. When I think of the Great Depression. I think of Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers movies as being, like, the height of escapism and beauty and wealthy people dancing. And I think those are, like, some of the most artistic movies of the 30s. So, yeah, I've lost my train of thought. The point being, this is good for me to watch, though. It raised a lot of questions about whether it was good for me on one level. I think it was also nutritious in the way that you're describing on another level. 7:43 Wes: Yeah, well, I think I wish I had actually said this in the actual episode, but I think it is a masterpiece. Technically, it's masterfully done. I mean, the audio, the visuals, and the sound are just incredible. I mean, after watching Hearts of Darkness in the making of it, I was just like, I'm shocked at how you even get that out of his wife. Coppola's wife did that documentary and had a camera on what they were doing and just looking at the footage that she shot and thinking about how, wow, how they transform that into the actual movie. It's much more mundane, you know, when you see it before the. Before the editing and all that. Or maybe it's just that it's also video recorded. But so it's brilliantly done. And I think it's. I don't know, you know, is it emotionally effective? It's suspenseful enough. It's on the verge of not having enough of a narrative arc, actually. George Lucas criticized it for that. He was originally supposed to direct this, but they couldn't. And I think Coppola was going to be the producer, but initially they just couldn't get it made. And then by the time they got some interest after Coppola started what's his company? Zoetrope. 8:51 Erin: Zoetrope, yeah. 8:52 Wes: Got some interest. And then Lucas was busy doing Star wars, and Coppola kind of assumed that that meant he could direct it. But I think Lucas felt kind of betrayed by that. But it's funny to see him interviewed about this and just sort of to archly kind of say, he's like, francis likes to be very intuitive when he films and not be very organized and just go out and kind of shoot stuff. And when you do that, sometimes you don't really end up with a narrative arc. So, yes, this film is episodic, and it's setting itself up for a disappointing payoff, obviously, because we know he's just Going there to kill Kurtz. And then how do you make that satisfying at all? And I think it is kind of, you know, when people say they're not happy with the ending. I think from a plot standpoint, that's understandable. It's just. It's not a plot exciting plot payoff. When you watch a film like this, you have to be more interested in the aesthetic. You have to be more ready to be wowed by the visual representations, by the sound, and also by the like. The thing that I think is conveyed most successfully and is one of the things that makes the film great is just the sense of the surreal and the kind of the psychedelic quality. And that's the critique of the war, right? The critique of the war as a form of insanity that's conveyed very well. You get drawn into that. It's almost a meditative, trance like experience. And there's a good quote from Roger Ebert about this. He says in his review, I think this was a later. Not the original review that he wrote, but something later. But he said Coppola also well knows, as demonstrated in the Godfather films, that movies aren't especially good at dealing with abstract ideas. For those, you'd be better off turning to the written word. But they are superb for presenting moods and feelings. The look of a battle, the expression of a face, the mood of a country. Apocalypse now achieves greatness not by analyzing our experience in Vietnam, but by recreating in characters and images something of that experience. So as a kind of raw experience, it's really hard to say anything about. 11:07 Erin: Right. 11:08 Wes: These are things that they involve the unsayable, ultimately. And that's what can make a medium like this great. It's a tool for capturing what can't be spoken, ultimately. 11:18 Erin: Right. That's a real sign of a masterpiece, too. The perfect use of the medium means that you shouldn't be able to express it or describe it. Like that dancing about architecture comment that somebody made about. I can't remember the quote now, but yeah, I also wish I had. I hope I said this in the episode, though. I do think it's like one of the greatest films I've ever seen, and it's totally a masterpiece, despite all of my criticism or explorations. 11:44 Wes: Right. 11:44 Erin: But to discuss another film of equal moral heft and brilliance. We did watch Notting Hill together, 11:52 Wes: which 11:53 Erin: has been more my satisfying. I don't know about that. 11:57 Wes: Really? 11:58 Erin: I don't know about that. 11:59 Wes: Wait, did we talk about this? 12:00 Erin: No, I agree with you, actually, I do, and I don't. I Actually, like I said as we were watching it, I find a lot of that movie to be so manipulative that I'm not. I don't know if I'm on board with that. That ending part where everyone's like doing tai chi in the park and the kids run past and oh la la, it's such a beautiful day and look, Julia Roberts is pregnant. 12:19 Wes: Yeah. Well, you wanted to end it at the press conference, right? 12:24 Erin: Yeah, yeah. What is it with me and wanting to end things like three minutes before the actual ending? 12:30 Wes: Well, you could just stop watching at that point and that would be the ending. 12:34 Erin: That's true. I've just self edit everything. I already do that. By closing my eyes at all violent parts of movies, I've forced myself to watch every moment of Apocalypse Now. 12:45 Wes: Hey, I think that maybe we could get rich off an app where you pre edit the movie in the way that you want to watch it. 12:51 Erin: Yeah, there you go. 12:52 Wes: Or have a robot do it. You know, have the software do it like it knows you and your preferences and then just custom edits the film. 12:58 Erin: For me, that would be the black bar. Do you remember that in 30 Rock where. 13:02 Wes: No. 13:03 Erin: He's trying to impress the new owner of NBC, who's that? Cable town smarmy family guy. And so he uses Kenneth's idea for putting the black bar at the bottom of the screen so that you don't see…

    Full show notes at the publisher

    At Home with War in “Apocalypse Now” (1979) by Francis Ford Coppola Jun 07, 2021
    Show notes

    Lieutenant Colonel Bill Kilgore doesn’t flinch for enemy fire, loves the smell of napalm in the morning, and would literally kill for good surfing and a beachside barbecue. His attempts to recreate home within the theater of war render him the perfect foil to a certain upriver madman, who seems intent on making high culture serve the purposes of primitive horror. And yet Kurtz is ready to argue that it is his methods that are more sound, just because they embrace their ruthlessness more honestly, in contrast to the impotent half-measures of an imperial power that can rationalize its atrocities as collateral damage in the service of a larger humanitarian goal. Which approach should evoke more horror? Wes & Erin analyze Francis Ford Coppola’s 1979 film “Apocalypse Now.” Pre-order Erin’s forthcoming book “Avail” here: http://subtextpodcast.com/avail For bonus content, become a paid subscriber at Patreon or directly on the Apple Podcasts app. Patreon subscribers also get early access to ad-free regular episodes. Also from Wes: Curtain Times, a calendar of Boston theatre, classical, talks and readings. Follow:Twitter | Facebook | Website Thanks to Nick Ketter for the audio editing on this episode. Transcript 0:09 Wes: Lieutenant Colonel Bill Kilgore doesn't flinch for enemy fire, loves the smell of napalm in the morning, and would literally kill for good surfing and a beachside barbecue. His attempts to recreate home within the theater of war render him the perfect foil to a certain upriver madman who seems intent on making high culture serve the purposes of primitive horror. And yet Kurtz is ready to argue that it is his methods that are more sound just because they embrace their ruthlessness more honestly, in contrast to the impotent half measures of an imperial power that can rationalize its atrocities as collateral damage in the service of a larger humanitarian goal. Which approach should evoke more horror? Today we're discussing Francis Ford Coppola's 1979 film Apocalypse Now. This is Wes Alwan. 1:01 Erin: And this is Erin O'Luanaigh, and you're listening to Subtext. 1:22 Wes: subtextpodcast.com subscribe or. Or by searching for us within the app itself. So Erin, at the very end of this film, had the voice of Walter Weatherman in my head. I know it's weird that my conscience has adopted the voice of an Arrested Development character in that movie. We make a reference to this every other episode. 1:44 Erin: That's true. 1:45 Wes: And the moral of the story was. And that's why you shouldn't read so much poetry, there is a lot of Marlon brando. He's reading T.S. eliot, right? 1:58 Erin: Yep. 1:59 Wes: And then according to the Dennis Hopper character, who's the photojournalist, and Conrad's the Heart of Darkness is the Harlequin. He recites Rudyard Kipling's if as part of his rambling speech, and we get the sense that he's referring back to Marlon Brando's Kurtz reciting that poem as well. And this seems to be one of the things that is entrancing to people in the same way that this worked in Heart of Darkness. Right. So Kurtz was an artist, he was a journalist, he was a musician. He was a person who took the supposed humanitarian mission in the Congo seriously. And we get some of that idea here with Kurtz's reading poetry and composing manuscripts and recording himself pontificating on the war into his tape recorder. And, of course, we Also get the parallel in this movie of a supposed humanitarian component to the war. I think the two things line up very well, and that helps make this a very faithful retelling, I think, of the story, even though there's so many divergences. So, of course, the war is, you know, whereas in the Heart of Darkness, this has supposedly something to do with civilizing the natives. In this case, it's about stopping communism and it's about protecting South Vietnam from North Vietnam. It's not as direct an idea related to higher culture or something like that, or the. The imposition of certain cultural values. And so that makes the. You know, in the movie, it makes it feel a little bit disconnected. Right. Why is Kurt's reading poetry is. Did Brando just come with poetry and wanna read it? Obviously, we know people who've watched Hearts of Darkness, which is a great documentary about the making of the film and the craziness of it, and the fact that Brando hadn't read the book Heart of Darkness and didn't learn any of his lines and didn't want to do the lines and wasted lots and lots of time arguing with Coppola over the dialogue because he didn't understand it while time was ticking on his. I think he was gonna be shooting for two weeks. I forget. But for a million dollars. Yeah. To what extent is this just kind of a tacked on attempt to make things surreal? And to what extent does it actually fit with the story? I think it fits in the end. So that was the. What I was left with at the very end of the film. Something about poetry and something going back to this idea, this kind of platonic contempt for poetry and the idea that it can unleash raw, dangerous emotions on the world, on civilization, impulses that, you know, in a way, poetry, right, is meant to represent what is highest in civilization, and yet we get this paradoxical idea that this is actually dangerous to civilization. And we wrestled with this idea as well in our Heart of Darkness episode, which is, you know, whether the horror, Kurtz's horror, is a matter of the primitive kind of breaking through the thin veneer of civilization or whether it comes from civilization and how those two things are related. 5:10 Erin: Well, I guess I didn't question whether or not Brando's character sort of fits in at the end, though I suppose I should have. I guess nothing Brando does surprises me. So I also liked the different. I had a very different reading on Kurtz in this adaptation. Not very different. But first of all, I like the fact that some of his humanitarian efforts in Heart of Darkness are transposed in Apocalypse now into that sort of quixotic joining of the special forces at 38. I really liked that detail because that's the kind of thing that speaks to heroism in Vietnam. You know, it's not just a guy with big ideas who goes in and wants to rise through the ranks. This is a guy who wants to start from the bottom and work really hard and doesn't care about rising through the ranks so much as serving one's country, maybe, you know, or where, whatever the Special Forces entails, doing the hard work, the real hard job, that takes a tremendous amount of intelligence and skill, but is extremely dangerous and messy and puts you on the line in a way that, you know. So I liked that here. I don't think that we got that from the Kurtz in Heart of Darkness. I think this is a translation into, like, what Vietnam era people would admire in someone. Correct me if I'm wrong. I don't know enough about Vietnam, really, to be talking with any authority about it. So people are gonna have to take everything I say with a grain of salt. The other thing that occurs to me in what you said, I don't see poetry as being an outgrowth of Kurtz's ideals. Or rather, I don't see poetry and the way that Kurtz behaves being connected. Rather, I see those two things in tension. I think, you know, last time we talked about the two dominant senses that Conrad calls upon in the novel to describe both the jungle and Kurtz, which is like sight and sound, right? Silence of the jungle, which is sort of terrifying. And Kurtz's voice, and then also the visuals of the jungle and of Kurt's. Of Marlowe wanting to see Kurtz, that desire to see him and to hear him, those two things were kind of twinned. And I guess sound struck me as the dominant metaphor within the novel, obviously the most fitting one based on the genre. And so it seems only right that in a film, it would be sight that's kind of the dominant metaphor. So I suppose what I saw was Coppola kind of playing with that a little bit and showing the ineffectiveness of rhetoric. But also the tension between what Kurtz says he is and his highfalutin poetry recitations and the visual reality of what's actually happening in that Angkor Wat style compound those two things as being absurdly in tension rather than one being the result of poetry, which I think is what you're getting at. 7:53 Wes: So even with the title of the film Apocalypse now, the first screenwriter on this was John Milius, and an early title was the Psychedelic Soldier. And then eventually it ended up being Apocalypse now as a variation on Nirvana now, which was a slogan apparently going around in the hippie scene in California, which associated drug culture and getting high with reaching enlightenment, an enlightened state of consciousness. There's the famous scene in which we actually see. It's graffitied at the final and final scene on the temple. Around the rocks are our motto, Apocalypse Now. So Nirvana is transposed into apocalypse. And so that's one idea here about the sense in which good intentions can go wrong. We see clearly that clearly in Conrad's novel as well. There's the hypocrisy element, right? So it's we're here to civilize the natives, but really they're there to exploit. But in the figure of Kurtz, the hypocrisy actually vanishes, and that might be the problem. So he's a true believer. He's the one who actually has all the artistic talents and genuinely, initially, at least, believes in this project of civilizing people, of being a humanitarian. And then the question is why that goes wrong and whether, again, that's just a breaking through, whether he goes native or he somehow loses all sense of inhibition, is sort of touched by nature and the lack of civilizational check so that instincts simply emerge, or whether those types of cruelties he's engaged in are actually a product of civilization. So that's one fundamental question on the idea that they're the product of civilization. That's the sort of the Rousseauian point of view. So then we get to the point where we ask the same question with respect to the arts, whether there's a darker side to it. 9:55 Erin: Sure. 9:56 Wes: So Coppola, he famously said, this movie isn't just about Vietnam, it is Vietnam. 10:03 Erin: Right. 10:04 Wes: And he describes this whole process of making the movie and being in the jungle and going crazy. And in Hearts of Darkness, he kvetches a lot about, this movie's gonna be terrible. And this is so pretentious. And he sounds pretentious even when he's describing his own pretentiousness. I really didn't know that Coppola had this character. 10:23 Erin: I'm surprised by that because he seems very down to earth in the interviews that I've seen. Maybe they're later, you know, as an 10:29 Wes: older man, well, he seems almost a bit manic. So we don't have to spend a lot of time trying to figure out how this is related to the arts. But it's suggestive for me, in the sense that there's something. Right, right. You know, you're supposed to. Poetry is supposed to be inspired. It's supposed to be quasi insane. And I'm treating poetry here as the representative of higher culture and the higher part of civilization. Taken too far, it can become unmoored from reality. It can be a manifestation of psychosis. So there's inspired madness versus madness. And I'm lining that up with the darker manifestations of civilization. Or a supposed humanitarian component to colonization or war. 11:10 Erin: Yeah. So that tension, I think it's certainly there in the book. But I suppose what I'm trying to get at is it's not so apparent. 11:16 Wes: Right. 11:17 Erin: It's not so in your face. And I think that what you're describing as the function of poetry for me, as I was watching this was the function of filmmaking. 11:24 Wes: Right. 11:25 Erin: I think any good movie, just like any good poem, is kind of a commentary on making a movie as it is. I suppose I should preface anything I say with this disclaimer, which I mentioned last time. I've seen large chunks of this movie before. Not all of it, as I learned. Not the most horrifying sections. I thought I had seen basically all of it. And what I had seen I didn't remember very well. But I knew what I was in for. And actually, I really didn't want to watch this movie because I knew what I was in for. So I should just say that I watched the movie twice in preparation for this. But I deliberately didn't look up any secondary information. I decided not to watch Hearts of Darkness until after we record. And the only thing I knew about this movie was that quote that you gave of Coppola's about this movie isn't about Vietnam, it is Vietnam. That was the only thing I knew going into it. So I've used that as a cipher to interpret everything about this movie. Because that was the one scrap of evidence that I had to go on. So I guess what I'll say, just to preface also, is that this movie I found unbelievably disturbing and did not enjoy at all. And I think partially because we're coming out of the pandemic. So during the last year, admittedly, my movie consumption has been escapist. You know, it's been cotton candy. I really haven't been able to handle much else. So maybe my tolerance has decreased. I'm afraid also, I'm not a big fan, as you know, Wes. I have an aversion to any kind of explicit sex or violence on screen. Not to say that I'm against freedom of artistic expression in any way. And I'm, of course, fine when it serves the plot or when it's artistic, whatever. But even then I have a distaste for it, I must admit. So I'm hypersensitive to what people get exposed to visually for a lot of reasons, partially because I'm a teacher of young men. And I also believe really strongly in an ethics of visual consumption. So I guess what this movie made me confront is the sort of meta difference between the novel as a form and the film as a form. And the boundaries that I almost felt were violated by seeing certain elements from the book which were horrifying, like the heads on the spikes around the Kurtz compound, actually seeing those visually translated into Apocalypse Now. So I suppose that's where I'm coming from. And so therefore, the tension in what Kurtz was reading aloud, the poetry, and what the photojournalist character was reciting aloud seemed very heightened to me. So that this seemed to me to be not the outgrowth of poetry as what was happening on the compound as an expression of madness, but rather the tension between the higher ideals of poetry and what was happening on the compound as expressed through the visual medium. And therefore, the hypocrisy was inherent within the film itself rather than the tension between poetry and violence, if that makes any sense. It made me think, why make this movie? Like, why do this? I don't know if that's a worthwhile question, and I know it's a stupid question. On a certain level, the movie is a masterpiece. I'm glad that it was made, but at the same time, it made me confront the idea of if this isn't a movie about a war, but if this is Vietnam and it's meant to reproduce a certain experience and it's also an anti war movie, those two things seem to me to be in tension. So we're using art, filmmaking art, as a way to express a kind of madness and using a kind of madness to get there. Like you're using the film, which is a sort of a form of exploitation, in a way to demonstrate or depict exploitation. It seemed to me to be a double bind a…

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    Unsound Methods in Conrad’s “Heart of Darkness” May 24, 2021
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    On his journey to the heart of the Congo, Marlow learns of a famed ivory trader named Kurtz— a remarkable man; a “universal genius;” a painter, poet, and musician; a man whose success in his trade has been unparalleled, but whose “unsound methods” have put him at odds with local bureaucrats. When Marlow finally meets Kurtz, he hears firsthand the trader’s essential characteristic: a deep and commanding voice which, combined with his methods, has earned him disciples and inspired local tribes to worship him as a god. But what message does Kurtz speak into the terrible silence of the African wilderness? And what deficiency, as Marlow calls it, might be hiding beneath his eloquence? Wes & Erin analyze Joseph Conrad’s 1899 novella, Heart of Darkness. Pre-order Erin’s forthcoming book “Avail” here: http://subtextpodcast.com/avail For bonus content, become a paid subscriber at Patreon or directly on the Apple Podcasts app. Patreon subscribers also get early access to ad-free regular episodes. Also from Wes: Curtain Times, a calendar of Boston theatre, classical, talks and readings. Follow:Twitter | Facebook | Website Thanks to Nick Ketter for the audio editing on this episode. Transcript 0:09 Erin: On his journey to the heart of the Congo, Marlow learns of a famed ivory trader named Kurtz, a remarkable man, a universal genius, a painter, poet, and musician. A man whose success in his trade has been unparalleled, but whose unsound methods have put him at odds with local bureaucrats. When Marlow finally meets Kurtz, he hears firsthand the trader's essential characteristic, a deep and commanding voice, which, combined with his methods, has earned him disciples and inspired local tribes to worship him as a God. But what message does Kurtz speak into the terrible silence of the African wilderness? And what deficiency, as Marlowe calls it, might be hiding beneath his eloquence? Today we're discussing Joseph Conrad's 1899 novella, Heart of Darkness. This is Erin O'Luanaigh. And this is Wes Alwan, and you're listening to Subtext. 1:09 Wes: And not all episodes of Subtext will appear here. subtextpodcast.com subscribe or by searching for us within the app itself. 1:25 Erin: So I have a confession to make, which is that this is the first time I have ever read Heart of Darkness. 1:32 Wes: Really? Yeah. 1:33 Erin: Which I think is kind of embarrassing, but it's one of those things. Well, for a while, I kind of. I thought that maybe I had read it. You know, sometimes you read Things Don't Remember, and it's such a classic, such a standard book, obviously, in so many high school and college curriculums. But as I was reading it, you know, familiar with the plot, of course, but I was like, I've definitely never read this before. 1:52 Wes: And. 1:52 Erin: Yeah, so the first time was Day before Yesterday, so we'll see. What. 1:56 Wes: That's so interesting. I'd figured you had taught this a lot in high school and that this one would be a breeze for you. 2:03 Erin: Right. 2:03 Wes: You would think I was worried that you weren't all that enthusiastic about doing this. 2:09 Erin: Well, I wasn't because I, you know, I guess I had resisted it. Like, I could have gone to it after college if it hadn't crossed my path earlier. And I haven't even seen all of Apocalypse now, to be honest. 2:19 Wes: Oh, my God. 2:21 Erin: I've seen large chunks of it, but I don't think I've ever sat down and watched it from beginning to end. I think this is the first time over the course of the podcast that I'm actually encountering something for the first time which has been interesting and maybe thematic for the purposes of this recording. 2:38 Wes: Yeah. I mean, I haven't read this since high school. I think the most recent thing I've read for Conrad, which I really liked and analyzed in detail, was the Secret Sharer. That's many years ago. And rereading this, I didn't remember a lot of it. You know, I knew the basic plot. The plot is very basic. 3:00 Erin: Yeah. 3:01 Wes: Anyway. And a lot of it is just a reflection. The only thing I really remembered about the book was the scene in the fog and the attack and the. Well, it's after the fog, actually. But I always imagined it being in the fog and the attack in which the helmsman is killed with a spear. And that's it. That's like the one memory I had of the book. I knew from my reading of the Secret Sharer that Conrad has such an interesting style of writing that obviously has something to do with the fact that English is his third language. It's brilliant. But it's also syntactically complex. So I knew that coming to this, it wasn't going to be. I'd have to ease myself into that. And you. And you sort of pause and reread things. It reminded me of Billy Budd, actually. And I thought, wow, these sailors really, you know, they're into some ornate syntax with their writing. 3:55 Erin: Yeah. Oh, gosh, that's funny. I certainly see some influence from the French in here. There's a sort of pile up of adjectives. It's like a. Like a wreck in the middle of every sentence that all these adjectives have collided with each other. 4:08 Wes: Well, supposedly, Flaubert was a big influence. Right. I don't know a lot about that, but that's. I heard that mentioned, sure. 4:14 Erin: Yeah. But I think it's just stylistically French like to take a bunch of adjectives and kind of string them together. But, yeah, I guess I had a similar feeling as when I first started Billy Budd, which was for the first 20 pages. I didn't find it difficult, per se, but it didn't really hook me. And I wasn't super interested in it. I was like, oh, man, what am I gonna say about this? I don't really like it. And then all of a sudden, I think when the ship that he's on sees the African coast, or I suppose he's along it all the while, but when he talks about dropping off the Frenchman or whoever on the shoreline and, like, not caring if they drowned. And then specifically the image of that man of war ship firing into the continent. I was like, oh, okay, this is really cool. So, yeah, so that was the moment at which I was really hooked, though I liked certain things earlier, but, yeah. And from then on, it was smooth sailing, so to speak. 5:09 Wes: I actually find the beginning kind of enchanting, but it was slow going. And then, yes, as it, you know, I had the same reaction as you as things pick up. I mean, really, the novella is a. Most of it is just a reflection. Right. Most of it is Marlow's reflection on the effect on him of taking this trip up what is presumably the Congo River. This is something that Conrad famously did himself. Right. So this is a very autobiographical novel. Even the whole story about Marlowe's story about being a child and being into maps and seeing a blank space on the map and wanting to go to this one of these dark places. That's something that is actually autobiographical for Conrad. And so, yes, this is all a vehicle for reflection on Conrad's experience of the Congo at a time when it was controlled by Belgium. Well, not even Belgium per se. Right. But it become the private property in 1885 of King Leopold II, who turned it into his fiefdom and ruthlessly exploited it for ivory and then rubber. We hear a lot about ivory in the book. But in the end, it was. Rubber was the big thing. And the atrocities were limitless and unspeakable. Right. Slave labor amputations were widespread. In the end, because there was an occupying military force that, to prove that it had killed people, was supposed to bring back amputated arms of people. And this in part was to make sure that they spent all their ammunition and that couldn't be used for a rebellion, but to save ammunition. There were lots of massacres, but they would also just kill people and cut off arms, and that what ended up being ruthlessness. King Leopold was able to get that fiefdom by arguing to the rest of Europe that this was a humanitarian and philanthropic mission that basically Belgium and the rest of Europe was invited to. Right. It was going to be free trade for everyone was invited in to. Not just to do trade, but to help civilize the natives. So the book is a reflection on that tremendous and tragic hypocrisy. Not just exploitation, but the justification of it as a humanitarian mission. And Kurtz, in a way, is made to personify all of that. He's a gifted person, a painter and a writer and a musician, a Renaissance man who goes in with the highest of ideals. In contrast to a lot of the people there who Conrad calls faithless pilgrims who are just cynically out to get rich, Kurtz was someone different. And then he becomes, in a way, the extreme representative of colonial cruelty. So it's largely a reflection. And actually, I was going to say, towards the end, I find it gets a little bit tedious because it's a very repetitive reflection. I think it's great. It's a wonderful book. But the enchantment part of it wears off. 8:17 Erin: I agree. Yeah, it certainly needn't be any longer. And also the density of. Just as I was reading, you know, I've starred or highlighted or, you know, written in the margins, you know, multiple times on every single page, especially at the beginning. You know, one's enthusiasm for that kind of wears out towards the end. But, you know, there's certainly a lot packed in here. And I like the conceit too, that there's a frame narrative as well, which very rarely enters in. And we have the actual narrator or the original. The OG narrator is on this boat, on this. I think it's a sailing ship, right, the Nelly, with Marlow and a few other unnamed characters, I think a lawyer, an accountant and some director of companies. So people who are, I guess, you know, representatives of London society, maybe. And the narrator is sort of himself, sort of pro colonization, pro England. And then Marlow comes in and sort of gives an alternate reading of that, though. I mean, we can only speculate, of course, about how much Conrad actually believed some of the things that Marlow says and how Marlowe's more nuanced reading of the atrocities he sees and of Kurtz's own gifts is a little bit more ambiguous maybe, than purely sardonic and a sort of condemnation of colonization. 9:40 Wes: Right. So it's clear that this is an anti colonial book and that that's Conrad's sentiment and that's what he's doing with this book, that's not hidden. But yeah, there is a long standing debate about the extent to which we can attribute Marlow's opinions to Conrad, which of course, we can't. We can't even identify Conrad with the original narrator. These are fictional Personas and every author is exploiting the fact of that fictionality. So some people want to accuse Conrad of racism for his depictions of the natives, to identify Marlow's voice with. With Conrad's voice. But I think we can safely say that we should not do that and that there are places where we might get some ironic distance between Conrad himself and Marlow. Marlow himself is a curious character, right, because he comes across in the frame narrative as very brooding and mysterious and, you know, sitting in the dark and lighting up a cigarette and, you know, using phrases like, and this also has been one of the dark places of the earth, you know, referring to the Thames and London. But in his actual narrative, he comes across as quite vulnerable and disturbed by his emotions and willing to describe all of those feelings. So, you know, we start off with the sense that we have an experienced sailor about to tell one of his yarns. Although the frame narrator tells us that, you know, he was not just a seaman, but a wonder, and that his stories don't have the simplicity of a typical sailor story. So the way he puts it is that the yarns of semen have a direct simplicity, the whole meaning of which lies within the shell of a cracked nut. But Marlow was not typical. And to him, the meaning of an episode was not inside like a kernel, but outside, enveloping the tale, which brought it out only as a glow, brings out a haze in the likeness of one of these misty halos that sometimes are made visible by the spectral illumination of moonshine. Just to give an example of the wonderful. Conrad's wonderful prose. But that's an apology, right, for. About what's about to come. This is not a plotted, fast moving story. This is gonna be a very. An autobiographical rumination and it's going to involve a lot of someone reflecting on their own inner life. That's what that little preamble is telling us, right? 12:24 Erin: I really like what the narrator says about. He mentions a couple of things about Marlow that are not typical, as you mentioned, the way that he tells stories, but also the fact that he's a man of the world rather than a sailor, which is really interesting. He makes this. This strange distinction between the two because he says. The original narrator says a sailor is someone who basically just stays in one place, right? The ship is their home and they just go around the oceans and the atmosphere of that is relatively unchanging. And the ports that they see all kind of run together, right? But for the most part they're just on the open ocean. And that has kind of a sedentary quality to it. He said, you know, the sea is always the same. Everything glides past. There's nothing mysterious to the seamen unless it be the sea itself. And that has some inscrutability. I was thinking about this, that, you know, the difference between the sea life and what we were talking about in Billy Budd, where it breeds this kind of hothouse quality or like I said, you know, like a boarding school quality or something like that. Whereas this distinction with what Marlow does by taking a steamship and going into freshwater, I think there's a distinction with the kind of craft that, that is obviously like. It's like a steamship is inherently one step less removed from nature. Like a sailing ship has at least you know, to rely upon the winds and currents and various things. And in a certain sense it's just an elaboration on a relatively rudimentary form which we see the natives using, you know, the hollowed out log or whatever that they use at a certain point in the, in the story that Conrad notes. But the steamship is obviously removed from that. It has more innovation and technological advancement behind it. But also by going into the continent on this, this freshwater journey, it's a very different kind of experience. So you could be a wanderer and still travel by ship when you're penetrating into the heart of the continent via fresh water. So it's a very different kind of experience, which I think is. I don't know. That was intriguing to me, that distinction. 14:34 Wes: Yeah. There's not the same sense of this well oiled machine in the case of. The way I've put it is a little ironic, but in the case of a big sailing ship where you have a bunch of, you know, it takes an enormous crew working together cooperatively and some very strict hierarchy going on, it's sort of a microcosm of law and order, as we discussed in Billy Bud, or even maybe the overreaching nature of the law. And the steamer. Right. Is just, he, I think he calls it a tin can. It's. It's just a piece of crap, basically. 15:12 Erin: Yeah. 15:12 Wes: It sinks. You know, the manager tries to take it up the river early and it sinks and then he has to spend months repairing it. 15:19 Erin: Humphrey Bogart pulls it on a rope. 15:21 Wes: Yeah, yeah, exactly. It's a piece of crap. And he has a few nat…

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    On the Lam with “Thelma & Louise” (1991) May 10, 2021
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    Two women—one a straight-laced waitress, the other a naive housewife—leave town for a quiet weekend getaway. But after a deadly encounter with a rapist, the two become unlikely…and then increasingly confident…outlaws. Though a kindly police officer tries to convince the women to turn themselves in, their refusal to surrender to a future scripted by forces more powerful than themselves drives them to a shocking and iconic ending. Is their fate triumphant or tragic? Wes & Erin analyze Ridley Scott’s 1991 film, Thelma & Louise. Pre-order Erin’s forthcoming book “Avail” here: http://subtextpodcast.com/avail For bonus content, become a paid subscriber at Patreon or directly on the Apple Podcasts app. Patreon subscribers also get early access to ad-free regular episodes. Also from Wes: Curtain Times, a calendar of Boston theatre, classical, talks and readings. Follow:Twitter | Facebook | Website Thanks to Nick Ketter for the audio editing on this episode. Transcript 0:09 Erin: Two women, one a straight laced waitress, the other a naive housewife, leave town for a quiet weekend getaway. But after a deadly encounter with a rapist, the two become unlikely and then increasingly confident outlaws. Though a kindly police officer tries to convince the women to turn themselves in, their refusal to surrender to a future scripted by forces more powerful than the themselves drives them to a shocking and iconic ending. Is their fate triumphant or tragic? Today we're discussing Ridley Scott's 1991 film, Thelma and Louise. This is Erin O'Luanaigh and this is Wes Alwan and you're listening to Subtext. 0:57 Wes: And not all episodes of Subtext will appear here. subtextpodcast.com subscribe or by searching for us within the app itself. 1:12 Erin: Wes, I was really surprised to hear that when this movie first came out, it sort of divided critical opinion. Did you see that as well? Looking back at reviews and stuff, I didn't know that. 1:23 Wes: I knew there was some controversy over the portrayal of men. 1:27 Erin: Yeah. 1:28 Wes: Is that what you're talking about? 1:29 Erin: Yeah, that is what I was talking about. I guess some male reviewers and even some female reviewers had a problem with that portrayal. 1:35 Wes: Yeah, well, there are a lot of bad men in the movie. 1:38 Erin: Right. And some things I guess also that strain credibility, which we could talk about as we go along. But you know how outlandish or not outlandish the events of the film are, which I think kind of misses the point. 1:51 Wes: Yeah, well, why does that miss the point? 1:53 Erin: I think very few of these on the lam movies are about the circumstances that get them on the lam or that make them outlaws. What I mean by that is, of course, this is about the circumstances that make them outlaws to. To a certain degree, but about the minutia of exactly how and why they are now outlaws, why they can't turn themselves in, stuff like that. I think it's less about those practical concerns and more about the mindset of being an outlaw or what makes one step outside of society and why. And so I think that, like, the state of being an outlaw becomes more metaphorical than it is literal and is trying to express something about the way that people do things that they can't come back from and maybe why they can no longer come back from those things than any literal, like. Well, they could have just pled this, and they could have. You know, why didn't they drive through Texas and all this, all this other stuff? I mean, that's a plot conceit, which has an interesting resonance, and it provides a certain important backstory for Louise. But also, practically speaking, it's completely ridiculous that they don't just go through Texas, and Thelma even says that, but it's to keep them in the country and on the road and to keep the story going. So it's no big deal, I think. 3:13 Wes: I didn't feel like there were any real plot holes in the movie or there was nothing unsatisfyingly unrealistic to me in the plot or the psychology of it. I thought it was all well explained, you know, So I. I knew the screenwriter would have to do something. She had the task of convincing us that they couldn't just go to the police. Right. So that's the first item on the to do list as far as making the plot. Making the plot reasonable. And she did a good job of that, even if it's irrational, even if it's not something most of us would do. I think she convinces the audience successfully that these two people would rather run for various reasons. It's not just about the crime, of course. It's not just about the killing of Harlan, but it's about needing to run in the first place. Right. The running comes before the killing of Harlan. Notice that I'm not calling it a murder because Leave that open to interpretation. But so the running comes beforehand, and then that killing of Harlan kind of is a step towards their actual liberation. So they can use that as a reason now to not return, to go on permanent vacation, so to speak. 4:25 Erin: Yeah. So the whole thing starts with this idea that they're gonna go on a vacation and they're going on a fishing trip, even though neither of them, I guess, knows how to fish. And I find it interesting rewatching it, that the whole thing begins because they're both trying to escape men. Thelma is trying to escape her really hilariously terrible husband. And even Louise is trying to, I guess, make her boyfriend Jimmy jealous. He's been taking her for granted. And I guess she wants to get married, he doesn't want to get married. And so Thelma says something like, you know, when. While you're gone, he's gonna leave you 100,000 messages, and when you get back, he's gonna be kissing the ground you walk on. So for Louise, it's kind of a manipulation of Jimmy. For Thelma, she ultimately can't. She's so terrified of her husband that she can't even let him know that she's leaving and decides to take off and leave him a note on the microwave. 5:17 Wes: Yeah. You get the sense that Louise has this on again, off again relationship with Jimmy and. Right. Yeah. He's detached and not good at expressing his feelings, it turns out. And he's in a band and still doing that in his 30s. You don't get the sense that he has. Do you get the sense that he has other work? He's kind of just scraping by, trying to live his dream. So, you know, a case of maybe Arrested Development. There's no marriage, there's no kids. There's no kids for either of them, which I think is significant. We can talk about that later. And then Thelma. Yeah. Has a husband who's very irritated with her, which doesn't come out of nowhere, by the way. Right. So Thelma is not an unirritating person. And Louise is, in the beginning, always irritated with her and always playing a. You know, having to play kind of a mother figure to Thelma's impulsivity. But on the other hand, yeah. Darrel's a horrible and ridiculous person at the same time. So who is Daryl, exactly? Like, what is his deal? And there are some great moments that really characterize him. One of them occurs when he's rushing out to work and he stumbles over. Some people are doing some work on his house. Right. And he stumbles over the stuff in the driveway and gets angry at those people. And he's just gotten angry at Thelma for reminding him not to be late to work or whatever she's doing. And she's trying to be helpful. And I thought this is a person who gets irritated with people trying to help him. And then later on in the scene with the. With Hal, the detective played by Harvey Keitel, he steps in. Pizza. 6:58 Erin: Yeah. 6:59 Wes: He's upset about something, but Hal has to. Cracks a smile and can't take it seriously and said, I'm sorry, you're standing in your. Does he say standing in your pizza, something like that? 7:10 Erin: I think so, yeah. 7:11 Wes: So the other idea that occurred to me because of that, it's. He's kind of someone who tramples his own sustenance. Right. Whether it's food or his wife or the people who are actually building his house. These are all what ought to be sources of nurture or sustenance or however you want to put it. And that's what he can't put up with. So I find that very interesting. 7:32 Erin: That is really interesting, that tripping in the driveway is something I want to return to. But then. Then we have Louise as a. A waitress in a diner. And she wears that sort of, like, traditional waitress outfit which I actually looked up. Like, how long have women been wearing these things? And I guess since the sort of the mid-1800s with the Harvey girls. I suppose they've been wearing these sort of prototypical, you know, designed, I suppose, to look like a French maid outfit or to be similar to that. So that you give the patrons the sense that you're waiting upon them in a real subservient kind of way. But she's very motherly from the beginning. And she's, you know, as a waitress, makes me think of what you said about the pizza. Like, she's also. She's giving sustenance to people. Or at least she's giving advice as well. In the first couple minutes of the film, she's even taking on a motherly role towards the teenage patrons of the diner and telling them not to smoke. But curiously, because it ruins your sex drive. 8:28 Wes: Yeah. 8:29 Erin: Cut to her smoking in the back. This motherly inclination is apparent, I guess, in the fact that she's dishing out the food. And she's also, you know, taking care of Thelma, of course, through three quarters of the film, maybe two thirds. But that setup is really interesting of the two women having that phone conversation back and forth. Because we see Louise in that outfit that you know, sort of typically, maybe overly feminized, maybe even slightly demeaning, we could call it that outfit. And then we see Thelma in her just really terrible, very claustrophobic house. Everything seems to be layered with clipped coupons and magazine pages. It's even, like, tacked on top of the really loud wallpaper. Thelma and her husband, too. Like, they both almost seem, like, too big for the house. I don't know if you got that impression, but they were, like, both very tall people. And so with everything sort of, like, low around them, the low ceilings and everything, it's like they're busting out of it. And Louise is kind of guiding Thelma through it, telling her to, you know, hey, is he your husband or your father? Like, just tell him. And then Thelma tries to play that role of being probably what she thinks Daryl wants, which is, like, the supportive wife who comes and brings him the cup of coffee and he rejects it and is terrible to her. So we have this setup where they're both in these sort of maybe traditional female Roles, they're both kind of bigger than those roles, or maybe even kind of busting out of them in the case of Thelma. And then we very clearly see that Daryl is cheating on Thelma. He stays out late. She asks him why it is that so many people seem to want to buy cars late on Friday night. 10:13 Wes: So is it cars or carpets? I thought it was cars. And then I. Looking at this screenplay, it seemed like it was carpets. 10:22 Erin: Yeah. 10:23 Wes: And it's conceivably something that could have gotten changed in between the screenplay and the film. So I was confused about that. 10:30 Erin: And then Ebert, in his review, refers to him as a rug salesman. And I was like, wow, he really got that one. Because every once in a while he kind of misquotes something because I got the impression he does a lot of it from memory. 10:40 Wes: Okay, so it could be carpet, then. 10:42 Erin: Yeah, yeah. But cars would be interesting, too, because she's never been out of town without Daryl. And obviously, like, the car is gonna be a huge factor. Yeah, it's really interesting. But anyway, so then it shows them packing, and we see also the difference in their personalities. But one of the things I picked up on during this viewing is the fact that later on, Daryl explains to the police why Thelma had a gun in the first place. We see her packing a gun, and we've just been told that Daryl's out late. Later on in the movie, he tells the police officer that he gave Thelma a gun specifically because he's out late so much because of his job to protect herself. And so basically, the whole reason why, you know, we have this. This gun at this. At the center of this story, which seems to stick out and to be the thing in a way that protects them, but also that ends up hurting them or putting them beyond or outside of the law. The whole reason why it's there. And Louise gets mad that Thelma brings it too. But the whole reason why it's there is because Daryl is cheating on Thelma and basically wants to probably ease his conscience a little bit by giving her something to protect herself with. And then Thelma justifies bringing it by saying that she's afraid of psycho killers. She repeatedly uses that term, psycho killers, up in the cabin. So there's a kind of a fear or an interesting sort of gender dynamic at the heart of why this gun is even there in the first place. 12:02 Wes: Thelma, in certain ways, is childlike and impulsive. Right. A lot of her behavior really propels the plot of the movie. So it's, you know, wanting to stop getting drunk, getting involved with this Harlan guy who Louise doesn't want her to get involved with because he's creepy, obviously creepy from the beginning. Robbing the store, holding the gun on the police officer, getting involved with JD and getting the money stolen. Pretty much everything that drives the plot forward happens because of something Thelma does. Even though Louise is the one who kills Harlan in her role as protector, this is really the motive force of the movie, is the behavior of Thelma. So when a husband gives a person like that a gun and he is also an asshole in a way, he's asking to be killed. That's really part of the significance of that. Especially if he's having an affair. I thought that was kind of ambiguous about, you know, he's staying out late. Yeah, I too thought immediately, okay, this is probably the implication that is that he's having an affair. But nothing ever happens with that. Right. That's just kind of a throw off. So you're left wondering about that. Either he's having an affair or he's just an incompetent carpet salesman who's staying late at the office for whatever reason. Either way, it's bad. And either, you know, he's mean to his wife and she should not be giving her a gun. And even if, even if he were the best husband there is, she's the kind of person that. For whom having a gun is just a. Is a bad idea. 13:40 Erin: Right. 13:41 Wes: And then with Louise, you know, I'm just thinking about the impulsivity versus the protector role and, and Louise is an interesting character because she's maternal and she's right giving advice to the young girls. You're too young to be smoking. And she's trying to rein in Thelma. But on the other hand, you get a lot of clear evidence that she's struggling with her own impulses and that Thelma, in a way is just a. She's living through Thelma. Right. So you could argue in a way that she's the driving force of the movie. So for instance, she's telling the girls that they're too young to be smoking. Smoking will ruin your sex drive. And Louise herself is a smoker. 14:22 Erin: Right. 14:24 Wes: So she's giving advice to young people that she can…

    Full show notes at the publisher

    Spiritual Matters in Chekhov’s “The Student” and “A Medical Case” Apr 26, 2021
    Show notes

    In Chekhov’s stories, beautiful natural surroundings are often a setting for unnatural lives and ugly social conditions. This sets the stage for a reflection on the relationship between physical and spiritual needs. His story “The Student” suggests that material deprivation–whether it is the exhaustion of the apostle Peter or the poverty of the Russian peasant–can undermine the capacity for fidelity and cultivation. In “A Medical Case,” a young heiress is made physically ill by her guilty awareness of oppressive conditions in her family’s factories. Can art, science, and faith truly redeem the individual human spirit without first transforming its social environment? Wes & Erin analyze. Pre-order Erin’s forthcoming book “Avail” here: http://subtextpodcast.com/avail For bonus content, become a paid subscriber at Patreon or directly on the Apple Podcasts app. Patreon subscribers also get early access to ad-free regular episodes. Also from Wes: Curtain Times, a calendar of Boston theatre, classical, talks and readings. Follow:Twitter | Facebook | Website Thanks to Nick Ketter for the audio editing on this episode. Transcript 0:08 Wes: In Chekhov's stories, beautiful natural surroundings are often a setting for unnatural lives and ugly social conditions. This sets the stage for a reflection on the relationship between physical and spiritual needs. His story, the Student, suggests that material deprivation, whether it is the exhaustion of the apostle Peter or the poverty of the Russian peasant, can undermine the capacity for fidelity and cultivation. In a medical case, a young heiress is made physically ill by her guilty awareness of oppressive conditions in her family's factories. Can art, science, and faith truly redeem the individual human spirit without transforming its social environment? This is Wes Alwan. 0:53 Erin: And this is Erin O'Luanaigh. 0:55 Wes: And you're listening to Subtext. And not all episodes of Subtext will appear here. subtextpodcast.com subscribe or by searching for us within the app itself. Okay, so today we are doing two more short stories by Chekhov. We did the lady with the Little Dog and the House with the Mezzanine. So today we're talking about the Student and a Medical case, two more really wonderful stories. And. I don't know. I was reading A Medical Case this week, and it's weird. I just. I'm immediately cheered up when I read Chekhov. Strangely enough, a lot of his writing features the negative social conditions in Russia at the time. But there's something so uplifting about it to me. So I thought maybe we'd just read the first paragraph of the Student, start off with that and say something about it, because I find it so affecting and winning. And it's just. It's enough to read that for me and be pulled into the story. At first, the weather was fine, still blackbirds called, and in the nearby swamp, something alive hooted plaintively, as if blowing into an empty bottle. A woodcock churned by, and a shot rang out boomingly and merrily in the spring air. But when the forest grew dark, an unwelcome east wind blew up, cold and piercing, and everything fell silent. Needles of ice reached over the puddles, and the forest became inhospitable, forsaken, desolate. It felt like winter. I was kind of reminded of Narnia, the sudden wintering of a place. It's interesting because you start out with some images of spring, and they have that. Well, I'm going to say redemptive quality Because I think that Chekhov, you always get these periodic descriptions of the natural environment and they always play a certain kind of redemptive role in the story. So we'll see in a medical case that they will come to represent the promise of a better future socially for Russia. In the midst of all the social blight, the landscape represents the promise of something better. We saw it in the lady with the Little Dog, where you had these scenes of. It was kind of the vacationy version of the enjoyment of the natural environment and the way that kind of became a foundation for a real relationship between Gurov and Anna. But in this case, we get this quick turn to darkness. The wind blows up cold and piercing. So this sudden change, it's like an immediate plot point regarding the weather, which is really cool. Yeah. 3:57 Erin: And of course, it's taking place on Good Friday. And there's a sort of a getting colder and darker at the beginning. And then at the end, it sort of lightens up immediately in the last paragraph, too, it's obviously at that part of the year where he says, oh, winter is coming back again. You get those false coming, the false springs and the returns to winter in that part of the year. But then also, of course, it's Good Friday, so it's a time of darkness. And there's also maybe something in this descent that's reminiscent of entering the tomb and having that sort of. I don't wanna say sort of gestational period for the student. A. It's a gestation of death for Christ at this point. But then there'll be a resurrection of hope maybe at the end. Maybe. 4:47 Wes: Well, yeah, we can discuss that. 4:50 Erin: Yeah. 4:50 Wes: I'm reminded that Game of Thrones begins very similarly. 4:53 Erin: Except I've never seen Game of Thrones and I probably never will. 4:58 Wes: Well, it's similar, except it involves zombies. And it's not all that well written. And also it's not similar at all except for the winter is coming part. But anyway. 5:08 Erin: Well, this is Gospel of Luke, right? 5:11 Wes: Right. 5:11 Erin: The zombies are in Gospel of Matthew, of course. 5:14 Wes: But one day we'll be reading the Bible and zombies. I like the fact that he kind of takes Kurt Vonnegut's advice and just tells you everything you need to know. If there's symbolism, he tells you what's going on and it doesn't detract from anything. So when he says, it seemed to him that the sudden onset of cold violated the order and harmony of everything, that nature herself felt dismayed. And therefore the evening darkness fell more quickly than it should. So I commented on this in our previous episodes, the way in which, especially in the plays, Chekhov characters are providing their own commentaries on what's going on, and they have their own strong political and cultural opinions that they insert. And then you get the same sort of thing with the narration from the point of view of the protagonist. So I find that a very winning. Another very winning thing, Chekhov. Just the people telling you exactly what they think and feel and interpreting their own experience, basically. 6:15 Erin: Right. 6:15 Wes: Because we do that. There's a virtue as a writer to not hiding the fact that we do that, because the instinct is to say, well, I want the reader to do that. Especially I think, in more contemporary prose, I don't know. So I don't want the protagonist to do that for the reader. 6:27 Erin: Well, and as I mentioned, I think also in previous episodes, I think that allows for a tremendous amount of interpretive variety too, because then one can argue whether or not Chekhov himself is agreeing with whatever the internal monologue of his characters is. 6:43 Wes: I think you're right. We were always wondering in the Chekhov story about the protagonist's interpretation of their own experience, because it's so strong. But, yeah, in this case, we get some more commentary up front. Right. It's a pessimistic reflection on the connection between future and past. 7:00 Erin: Yeah. And in this instance, since the main character is not just a student, but a seminary student, he's well educated, so we have some lofty connections. And then later some, of course, theological connections that he's going to make. He's continuing on. And Chekhov writes. And now, hunching up from the cold, the student thought how exactly the same wind had blown in the time of Rurik and of Ivan the Terrible and of Peter. And in their time there had been the same savage poverty and hunger, the same leaky thatched roofs, ignorance and anguish, the same surrounding emptiness and darkness, the sense of oppression. All these horrors had been and were and would be. And when another thousand years had passed, life would be no better, and he did not want to go home. 7:42 Wes: He's stating a kind of pessimistic version of the thesis that's at issue in this story. And it'll be redeemed in the end. We'll get a more positive version of this sense of connection between past and present. So in this case, it's the same thing happening over and over again. It's almost like a story with no real plot, or just a repetition of pain and suffering that has no point and no meaning and no forward progress. Which is interesting, because in a way, as a student, he's a representative of a kind of progress at a time in Russia in which there is a newly found possibility of upward mobility. So Chekhov's grandfather had been a serf, right? And then his father, before things went wrong, had become middle class. And part of what. What's going on in Chekhov stories is their reflection on this transitional state and people who fall within that transitional realm. And so people suited to doing this sort of reflection. So I take the student as, to some extent, a representative of that. And of course, students are a progressive force in society and are thinking about its. And in part because they're young and thinking about its social transformation. But in the beginning, pure pessimism. 8:56 Erin: I think that's really good. I think also I was wondering what this significance of this list of three is. I was trying to think Rurik, Ivan the Terrible and Peter. And I was thinking, okay, what do I know about these three people as a group? I mean, not much. Rurik, of course, was the founder of the Rurik dynasty, which were the ruling dynasty that ruled Russia for 6, 700 years, something like that. And they were ultimately replaced by the Romanovs. Ivan the Terrible was a Rurik, and he united all of the kingdoms of Rus, I suppose, as it was called. And then, of course, Peter was a Romanov. And Peter, very Westernizing force in Russia, made a lot of changes to Russian society in order to make the country more like a Western power. So I suppose that there's even a little bit of. I mean, quite a bit. Several hundred years, almost a thousand years of progression in this little list as well. And certainly, I think Chekhov would. Not to speculate on the mind of Chekhov, but I think he would probably recognize that Peter the Great made a lot of wonderful changes to Russian society. And certainly a student would think that way as well, I would imagine. So this is sort of going back through time and imagining suffering through all these times. But he's also. I think there's a clear sense, maybe Ivan the Terrible because of his name and because of the fact that he's terrible. Maybe. Maybe we're not supposed to read this quite so positively as I am. 10:30 Wes: No, I think. I think we are. I mean, it's. What he's trying to say is. Yeah, I think, yeah, the Rurik, Ivan the Terrible, Peter the Great, reforms that, say, sort of stereotypical representation of the progress of things in Russia. And he's saying, in fact. No, despite that conventional idea, in fact, you know, this this pessimistic thesis holds same savage poverty and hunger, etc. It's all for naught. All the reforms are for naught. 10:56 Erin: Yeah. So then the student Ivan is walking along and he sees these two widows, mother and daughter, sitting in front of a fire. And they're sort of. I don't know. What do we want to say about them? Should we read their description? 11:10 Wes: Sure. 11:11 Erin: The fire burned hotly with a crackle, throwing light far around over the ploughed soil. The widow Vasilisa, a tall, plump old woman in a man's coat, stood by and gazed pensively at the fire. Her daughter Lukerya, small, pockmarked, with a slightly stupid face, was sitting on the ground, washing the pot and spoons. Evidently, they had only just finished supper. 11:32 Wes: What I like in this passage is this contrast between the pensive mother and the slightly stupid face of the daughter Chekhov never pulls punches about. One of the things about the Russian peasant that draws his sympathy is their ignorance and illiteracy and lack of education. Right. So today it would be taboo in the United States to say yes. To remedy social injustice, we have to think about the education of the lower classes. That would be entirely forbidden. It's forbidden to think about class in the way that Chekhov is thinking about it here. Some of this might be alien to people, but he's thinking just as much about their psychosocial conditions as he is about their material deprivation. And we get a nice contrast between the mother, who once served gentlefolk as a wet nurse, and so her speech is delicate, and then the daughter beaten down by her husband. So in the mother, we get another one of these transitional figures. And then in the next story, we'll have that in the governess. But they are rubbing up against the upper classes in ways that make them kind of hover between the two situations. But the daughter is firmly on the losing end of power relations. So you get this immediate, interestingly textured and tense social dynamic just between two women in a family. And it's delivered to us very succinctly but very effectively. 12:59 Erin: Yeah. I was going to ask, what do you think the significance of that is? That Lukerya does say, as you mentioned, that she's beaten down by her husband and that she only squinted at the student and kept silent. Her expression was strange, like that of a deaf mute. 13:13 Wes: Yeah, yeah. 13:14 Erin: There's something very affecting about her and very sad. I don't know if she's supposed to be, you know, a kind of a holy fool or. She seems almost to be a childlike presence. 13:24 Wes: Yeah. Well, I think, as we'll find out in the story, he, in a way, is recapitulating the role of Peter, not Peter the Great, but the apostle. I think the idea is that something has been denied. You know, in this social situation. There's an element of denial that Chekhov is getting at in his stories, not just this one. And here we get another negative representation of progress. Right. It's the daughter, so she should be in the better position. It shouldn't be a regression to the worst position of the peasant. It should be something better than the mother. But it isn't. And he's doing what Peter did. He's about to tell them the story of Peter in a wonderful, beautiful way. But he's finding warmth by the fire, which for the apostle Peter, leads to his betrayal or denial of Jesus because he's recognized, and then three times denies that he knows Jesus. So I think we're set up for that parallel in the situation, and we'll be able to maybe say more about what the mother and daughter represent here after we say a little more about the story of Peter. I think we get kind of three iterations of the idea of the connection between past and present, the very pessimistic one up front. But then the story of Peter is going to give us this idea of a connection between past and present as well. 14:38 Erin: That's good. I'd like to read a little bit from it. It's kind of difficult to deal with a story this short and not just want to read the whole thing aloud. And his telling of this story, I believe it's the version from the Gospel of Luke, and it is extremely beautiful. So Ivan, the student, is talking to Vasilisa and Lukerya, and he…

    Full show notes at the publisher

    Art and Action in Chekhov’s “The House with the Mezzanine” Apr 12, 2021
    Show notes

    In this story, there are two sisters: one introverted, frail, and bookish; the other dominant, opinionated, and politically active. In meeting them, an accomplished artist seems to be confronted with a dilemma. Should art subordinate itself to the project of creating a just society? Or should it focus on serving more spiritual needs? These questions make Chekhov’s “The House with the Mezzanine” is an interesting meditation on the relationship between politics and the arts, and whether the windows of our proverbial dwellings are best used to illuminate a new path forward, or to articulate the beauty of the world as it is. Wes & Erin analyze.

    Pre-order Erin’s forthcoming book “Avail” here: http://subtextpodcast.com/avail

    For bonus content, become a paid subscriber at Patreon or directly on the Apple Podcasts app. Patreon subscribers also get early access to ad-free regular episodes.

    Also from Wes: Curtain Times, a calendar of Boston theatre, classical, talks and readings.

    Follow:Twitter | Facebook | Website

    Thanks to Nick Ketter for the audio editing on this episode.


    Nipped by Love in Chekhov’s “The Lady with the Little Dog” Mar 29, 2021
    Show notes

    Dmitri Gurov does not take love seriously. His wife annoys him, long-term relationships scare him, and his love life consists of brief affairs with women he meets at vacation resorts. In Anna, he finds someone who appears to be the usual victim—traveling alone, tired of her husband, and unlikely to make any effective demands for intimacy, something that seems to be revealed in the diminutive portability of her traveling companion. This time, however, he has met a match too powerful for his predatory ambitions. When is love’s bite bigger than its bark? Wes & Erin analyze Anton Chekhov’s “The Lady with the Little Dog.”

    Pre-order Erin’s forthcoming book “Avail” here: http://subtextpodcast.com/avail

    For bonus content, become a paid subscriber at Patreon or directly on the Apple Podcasts app. Patreon subscribers also get early access to ad-free regular episodes.

    Also from Wes: Curtain Times, a calendar of Boston theatre, classical, talks and readings.

    Follow:Twitter | Facebook | Website

    Thanks to Nick Ketter for the audio editing on this episode.


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